Incomplete
by Reda
Summary: Elizaveta is the new girl in a small town highschool who can't seem to catch a break when it comes to having a decent social standing. Gilbert is the albino bad boy who doesn't know when to shut up and doesn't care, either. Roderich is the mysterious foreign transfer student who claims high social standing with his piano prodigy skills and sets his eyes on Liz. [AU. PruHun, AusHun]
1. Chapter 1: Elizaveta

**Author Notes: **In the spirit of NaNaWriMo, I'm starting something new this year. I've been holding this story idea back just for this month. No worries, if I can stay ahead on this story, I'll keep the priority list going for my other stories and such. I just love writing several projects at once and it's too addicting.

This is my first attempt at a PruHun. So straight up just forgive any cliches or overused ideas seeing as I don't actually read a lot of PruHun or write it, like, ever. So. Yeah! That goes for high school AUs too. Lol. Also, keep in mind it's my NaNo story so it'll be coming out super fast this month without much editing. I know exactly how it ends, and my outline is basically being filled in a few chapters ahead of where I am (seeing as I'm a huge discovery writer and usually only use a few points ahead of time and the end goal to keep myself on track). I thrive during NaNo, so hopefully this goes somewhere.

**Warning: **Character death is a possibility. I haven't determined yes or no at this point, but it's definitely a possibility.

**Pairing: **PruHun, AusHun, others possibly implied

**Genre: **Romantic Tragedy (guys, Clannad is my favorite anime ever, if that tells you anything xD)

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 1: Elizaveta

There were a million and one things running through my mind as I climbed the stairs in the old hospital. Like why I wasn't taking the elevator for one, and the acknowledgment that being still even for a few seconds would probably make me break down at this point. After all, the phone call earlier was enough to almost make me lose control. Thankfully, my parents could understand my urgency to leave the house in the middle of the night, even if they didn't particularly care for the guy I was rushing to go see.

Questions surged through my head. Why? How? When? What was he doing? How did it come to this? When did he get caught out in this mess? Why had he never told me? Why did this have to happen? Would he be all right? What was it going to be like when I walked inside his room?

I gulped and pushed that thought away the most. I didn't want to think about it. Obviously, everything I thought of would be worst case scenario and it was going to work me up as I rushed through the stairs. I needed to keep it together. Just a little bit longer. Keep it together long enough to make it there. I was pretty sure I'd lose it and the tears would break free and my shaking would make it impossible to stand, but I wanted to make it there first.

I had to see him for myself.

Of course, there was another major thought hovering behind all the others as I finally made it to the room. As I pushed through the door and stared down at the still form on the hospital bed, ignoring the two other occupants of the room. A small, old hospital for a small, old town. The staff had not been prepared for the recent school yard bloodshed. No one would have been.

And yet, as I stood there staring at him, feeling my heart pounding and the tears beginning to break free, all I could think of was how he deserved better. I should have paid him more attention these past few years. God knows, he deserved so much more than what I gave him, so much more than what life in general gave him. I could have done more, should have done more...why did it take this tragedy for me to realize as much?

I walked over to his bed and hovered at the edge, staring down at the seemingly sleeping form. I could feel the eyes from the other occupants, and the eyes as more people flooded the room – those who had been hanging outside when I burst down the door against hospital visiting hour policy.

His eyes opened. I felt myself bark a half-hearted laugh through the sobs as I reached out to lightly punch him on the shoulder. He grinned at the tap, a grin so wide it reached all the way to his eyes.

"You idiot," I murmured, and then everything broke loose and all control was lost.

~!~

Maybe I should start my story from the beginning. That little glimpse was probably too heavy for an introduction, and you have no idea who I'm talking about or even who I am at this point. Well, let's get started for real then.

On the first day of my adventure in a new school my parents had to pull me from the bed kicking and screaming. Figuratively, of course. I was a sophomore by American high school standards, a second year, and lucky for me, I got to transfer from Hungary into this small, old American town where no doubt everyone would know everyone already. If it were up to me, I'd stay home and insist on being home schooled or learning the material on my own. I hadn't heard many good things about America's current school system, and I was definitely not looking forward to being the new kid on the block in such a foreign environment.

Nevertheless, I wasn't one to disappoint my parents. They were nice people. A little overbearing at times, but still nice and so obviously trying to walk the line of being friends and being, well, parents. We've been to America before. After all, my mom is from here, and the military can't always send her overseas. I just...haven't been to a small town like this, even if my dad keeps insisting it's not as bad as I keep making it out to be. Granted, he was born in a small town in Hungary, so his opinion is a little biased. Some of his best friends were made in that town, so he's got it in his mind that of course I'll make my best friends here.

_Well, news flash Dad, things are different from when you were a child._

_ Seriously. And to top it off I'm in America! Not some chill Hungarian town with silly traditional dance festivals. Not the same at all._

Besides, there was no need for me to search for my best friend. I already had one. Lili Zwingli lived in Lichtenstein currently, going to some boarding school for girls far, far away from me. She normally lived with her older brother in Switzerland, but their parents had seen fit to separate the two for some reason. Of course, we had pleaded for them to send Lili to America with me, but that didn't work so well. Something about too much money, even though her family was well off enough to do whatever they pleased. They were just the type to actually budget and save and refuse to spend money on frivolous things, such as keeping two desperate best friends together.

Oh well.

All the begging and pleading amounted to absolutely nothing, and the two best friends in the whole world separated for what would feel like forever. Sure, we promised to always send letters, seeing as calling someone across the ocean would be a little difficult. And Lili had suggested a pattern for my school uniforms. My parents were pleased to see me sewing in my own room, on my own accord, doing girly stuff for what was _not_ the first time no matter how much they gawked. Excuse me for acting like a tomboy when I was growing up. I still liked to do girl stuff from time to time, and the opportunity to make my own school uniform as opposed to wearing the atrocious store bought designs...

Yeah, at least I had something to do during the summer vacation. A normal girl may have poked her head out of the new house and gone exploring during the daylight hours. I refused. I didn't want to meet anyone. I was still mad at having to move, and I didn't feel like exploring the town I could no doubt walk circles around in a single day.

At least not now or maybe ever.

Of course the day for my first appearance eventually arrived against my will and I was forced out of the house to begin the short trek to the school. Wearing my recently made red and white plaid sleeveless dress over a white blouse with a tie because apparently everyone was required to wear at least that much. Actually, the instructions for school dress were quite easy to follow: keep it within school colors with the absurd plaid uniform look, wear a tie, keep shorts, skirts, and dresses to appropriate length. Nice shoes to match with tights or pantyhose for girl's legs when weather reached chilling points. Of course, we were allowed to wear pants, too, if we so preferred. Also, there hadn't been any mention of hair accessories, so I took the liberty to wear a thin headband in my long, full brown hair, clipping a faded red fake flower onto the band. Just to add a little personal flare, I guess. Lili would have thought it was cute.

I sighed as I shifted my choice of backpack further up my right shoulder and thanked whatever genius business decided to create purses with long straps. Wearing my purse against my hip with the strap resting on my opposite shoulder left my hands free to open doors and deal with anything that came my way this morning. Or so I thought.

Walking beside the empty country road, slowly making my way to the hill I would have to cross to get to the school on the other side, I assumed I would have nothing else to worry about beyond watching my own steps. The grass was green on either side of me and a little wet from the dew of the morning. There were also puddles along the side of the road as if to prove that the drainage system of the country road was terrible as to be expected. Things were much better in the city where they didn't rely on mother nature to keep areas flood-free. So needless to say, I had to step around puddles and...

Well, I guess after all the set up you know exactly what comes next.

Apparently, I was one of the few walkers, but not the only one to live close enough to make the trek. The others who lived nearby just happened to have bicycles to make the walk to school quicker and easier.

My only warning was the shouting cries from behind. "Gil, watch where you're-!"

Faster than lightning, a bike passed me on the right. I caught a flash of odd white hair and strange bright red eyes (an eye color like that stands out), and then there was the splash of water as his bike tires ran through the puddle right next to me. Water and mud on my _new personally sewn school outfit_. Nevermind the soaking my backpack received. God help me, he was lucky to be on a bike and racing past me. My anger inflamed near instantly as the perpetrator escaped unscathed. I burned his image into my mind. Thankfully, he was unique enough that I could have found him later even if this wasn't a small town.

A few seconds later, another guy passed me on a similar bike, shouting after his friend. If I hadn't been fuming, I might have cared to burn the albino's friend into my mind as well. Instead, I got to be distracted by yet a third person pulling up on his bike and actually taking a moment to slow down and apologize.

Or, I should say, a blond haired idiot who made an attempt to apologize. "I hope Gilbert didn't ruin-"

Clenching my hands into fists, I turned to the pony-tailed boy and tried not to glare too hard. "First day reputation be damned, that guy is _dead_."

I never had been good at holding back my anger once it managed to break free. Even as a child, I was a bit rough around the edges. Boys loved to play with me and sometimes I'd even pretend to be one of them. It wasn't too hard to play at being a guy when I was younger. Of course, once I developed that went out the window, but the anger and urge to punch someone for wronging me in anyway? Yeah. That never went away.

"_Sacrebleu!" _The guy exclaimed, a very fake-sounding French accent mixed with an overused and not truly accurate curse; my mind screamed poser the moment I heard the word. "The cat has claws!"

Before I had a chance to blow up at _this_ jerk, he put his feet back on his bike pedals and chased after his two friends without even offering a real apology or attempting to cover up for the mistake of splashing the new girl on the first day of school. First impressions of this school crowd: absolutely appalling. I was _so_ excited for the rest of the day.

~!~

I made it to the school without any more issues, thankfully. Walking through the students after the first bell rang, though, that was devastating. I could almost hear all the people silently judging me for coming to school dirty on the first day. I wanted to scream at them that it wasn't my fault, but such an outburst would only serve to worsen the situation.

_It's okay. You've had bad luck before; this is just more major because it ruins your chance of having a good reputation on the first day of school and since everyone here no doubt already has their cliques getting friends is going to be impossible. But no, it's perfectly fine._

I went to the office to pick up my yearly schedule of classes, groaning at the lineup. Four classes for the first semester, four for the second. What a stupid system. Not that I had any say in the matter. Not anymore. I would probably be bored throughout all the classes anyway.

Considering math was my first subject and American high school math courses were supposed to be laughably easy for most foreign transfer students, I decided now would be a great time to visit the restrooms and clean myself up. I couldn't walk around soaked and covered in mud the whole day. Looking down at the ruined dress, I felt my anger rise back to the surface. If I so much as saw that white haired red-eyed albino idiot – well – heaven help him.

Clenching my fingers into my backpack strap, I pushed through lingering students and quickly made my way into the nearest girl's bathroom without any more incidents. No one else seemed to be in here, which was good. I didn't want to deal with questions or judgmental stares. I had experienced enough already from students and administrators alike. The adults in the office just seemed to look down their noses when I had to explain more than once that I was a foreign transfer and couldn't just go look at the lists on the walls. Besides, they spelled my last name wrong, which led to an even worse experience as I tried to explain to them what "all those marks" actually meant.

With a sigh, I set my bag on the floor next to the bathroom sinks and rolled my sleeves up. Turning the water on, I grabbed a handful of paper towels, got them wet, and started to dab at the mess on my clothes. Such a pain. I can't believe this had to happen on the first day. At least I'm not crying over it. I'd much rather be fuming at the guy who caused this than crying all alone in the bathroom.

Yeah, thank god I'm not doing that.

Sure, I was going to have to walk around school all day with this water splotch on my dress, even if I did manage to get most of the mud stains out, which was unlikely. But I couldn't let that ruin the entire day. I was going to be late for my first class, probably called out for it. Which would be annoying. I could use the excuse that it was my first day here and I got lost, but that was once again at the cost of my reputation. All my plans and hard work to make a good impression, and everything' went wrong because of that albino fool. If I saw him later today at all, I would make him pay. Too bad I didn't have a PE class scheduled for this half of the school year. That'd be the best place to get my revenge.

As I grumbled to myself about stupid albino jerks, a flash of white caught my eye from the mirror and I froze. The owner of said hair stepped up closer, heels clicking on the bathroom floor, and I turned to see long white hair flowing from a girl beside me. Staring at her in the mirror, I noticed a pair of dark blue eyes staring back at me.

"Something on my face?" The girl growled, and I noticed the dark blue choker around her neck and the tongue ring in her mouth. Okay, so, her hair must be dyed or a very platinum blond. Not albino. Just punk. Well, that explained her sour attitude, too. "You the new girl?"

I nodded, a little taken aback to make a definitive reputation-saving response at the moment.

She turned and the water stopped dripping from the sink as she moved to dry her hands, all the while keeping her icy cool glare on my gaze in the mirror. "Stay away from my brother."

Without another word, she left me hanging, blinking into the mirror. I stared in the spot she had been standing, well after she had vacated it, and opened and closed my mouth several times. _Stay away from her brother? That's a hell of a greeting._

"But," I murmured as I went back to scrubbing the mud out of my dress. "I don't even know who she is, so how am I supposed to know who her brother is? Not only is that a terrible way to greet the new girl, but now I'm even more confused about who I'm supposed to stay away from. Is her brother popular? Does that happen a lot? Why would she care? Ugh! I don't care! It's not like I'm here to hunt for guys anyway! Screw this place. I just want to go home now!"

Gritting my teeth, I scrubbed until my hands were sore, and then growled at the lack of progress. _Okay, I can be honest and admit to the progress, even if it is very small, but it's still enough of a lack to make me growl and groan and fume and huff and imagine that stupid little albino jerk on his stupid little bike. Maybe I should set a trap for him tomorrow morning as revenge. I could push him off the hill. Yeah. Sounds good. I make that jerk wish he hadn't messed with me!_

~!~

Funny story. My day didn't end there. Oh yeah, it gets better.

I eventually found my way to the classroom I was supposed to be in. Some simple math class, I was sure. My theory was proven correct, too, once I was able to sit down after all the cute-explanation and looking-sorry-on-purpose and trying not to glare at the albino boy I spotted almost immediately upon entering the room. Oh, the professor wasn't as bad as the office workers. She actually allowed the excuse, introduced me to the class like we were children or something stupid. She mispronounced my name, and I sighed and said people could call me Elizabeth if they so wanted. All the while trying my best not to let my anger out.

_Time and place for everything. This is not the time for attempted murder._

Not that I would _actually_ kill him. Just...cause enough bodily harm to make him regret ruining my day. That was only fair, right? I mean, he deserved it, didn't he? Especially with the way he was nudging his buddies – what were the odds of all three of them being in the same classroom and being allowed to sit next to each other? Thankfully, I found an open seat to claim as my own that was far enough away from the terrible trio.

It didn't stop them from whispering about me, though. "She's hot. Would you bang her?"

Stupid. Annoying. Immature.

"Nah, my eyes are only for Lovino."

"Oh that's right. I forget Toni's gay. What about you, Francis? You think she's a virgin?"

"_Mon ami_," that fake French again; what was wrong with this trio? Seriously? Asking such inappropriate questions and not even getting called out by the teacher; I guess the professor was used to them; ugh, that spelled so much bad for this town. "I am trying to focus."

"Tch, whatever, man. I'll ask her myself."

_What? What is he going to-?_

And just like that I was successfully distracted from the lesson, not that it was too important anyway. I remembered covering this topic a few years back. Apparently all the talk was true. Americans were so behind on their math. I could do these problems on my own without having to ask for help or have it explained again. Granted, it was just the beginning of the year. Maybe they could catch up. Maybe?

Before I could ponder further, a piece of paper dropped onto my desk from over my shoulder. It was folded into several squares and had the words _"To the new chick" _scribbled on the front in horrible writing.

Feeling my rage bubbling to the surface, I took a deep breath and unfolded the failure of a proper note. Wasn't there a cuter way to do this passing notes thing? Why did it have to be him? Of everyone who could toss me a note on the first day, I get the one guy I don't want to have interest in. The guy that splashed me and completely ruined my first day. What does he even want?

_"Hey new chick, are you a virgin? Yes/No?"_

Oh. Oh he is so dead.

Holding the hot anger inside, swallowing, taking a deep breath to chill, I decided to play his stupid little note game. Fine. If he wanted to be an immature asshole, I had no problem giving him a taste of his own medicine.

_"Are you really an albino loser?"_

Folding the note up – the proper way mind you with the little tag to "lock" it and everything – I crossed out his _"to the new chick" _and wrote my name instead. Beneath it, I wrote my own little description of him. I was pretty sure everyone would know exactly who the note was meant for anyway.

_"To the albino asshole."_

Yeah. Tossing it over my shoulder to the no doubt bored student behind me, I sat back in my seat and waited for his reaction. If he would even feel obligated to give me one. I had noticed that he'd stopped whispering to his buddies, though. Maybe the note thing was a good enough distraction to keep him from ruining everyone else's day, too. Well, fine. I hated how he was the only one to give me any kind of real attention, but this certainly beat day-dreaming away the math lesson for a concept I already understood.

The note flitted back to my hands. An arrow pointed to the tagged lock with the word "_cute"_ in small print. Besides the fact that he'd drawn a lopsided sad face with another arrow pointing to my apt description of him. No correction, though, which meant he could at least accept the truth however harsh. It did make me wonder what his response would be, so I opened the note quickly and read:

_"I am awesome! But yes, albino. I know it's rare so people don't always believe me. Don't have to use it as an insult, though. That's so overdone. Trust me."_

With a huff, I noticed a couple added question marks to his first message, but nothing overly erratic. The albino comment must have hit him harder than I expected. Huh. I should feel delighted at making him feel pain, but I wasn't exactly intending to use it so early or like that. Then again, he may just be playing me. Still, I had to frown as I responded this time.

_ "You want me to believe you were bullied for being albino? Please." _After a second thought, I crossed out the sarcastic please and in its place: _"Oh wait, I guess that explains why you're such a bully yourself."_

I folded the note back up and wrote something new on the front, pointing to the sad face. _"You could have given me your name, idiot."_

I tossed the note over my shoulder again, getting a chuckle from the guy behind me. I guess he thought it was funny. Well, at least we wouldn't have an issue with our classmates turning us in for passing notes. To my surprise, the note came back almost instantly.

_"It's Gilbert," _was written on the front, and when I opened it a simple, single line. _"Not a bully. Explain."_

Raising an eyebrow, I turned around to see the albino with his arms crossed, staring at me. So. He was watching me respond this whole time? What a creeper. Though I did get a good look at the sorry state of his own clothes. A thin red jacket to cover most but not all of the obligatory red shirt and tie. And the stupid idiot had a pair of frayed blue and white plaid pants. Well, if he was getting away with it, I guess the office staff didn't have such a stick up their ass about uniform as I assumed. Pretty sure blue wasn't a main color, and he was the only one in class with blue plaid, too!

Scoffing to myself at his curious look, I turned back to my desk to give him a response. _"Well, Gilbert, you ruined my morning when you splashed me with your insane bike moves. So, yes you are a bully. My first day and you're already taking advantage of a poor innocent cute girl on the side of the street. It's a wonder one of your friends even wanted to cover for your fuck up."_

The wait was longer than I thought it would be. _"That was you? I had no idea. Francis was terrified when he came back. Said you were like an angry cat baring its claws. It was fucking hilarious. I haven't seen him so scared of a chick before since he tried to force Natalia onto the dance floor. So yeah that's awesome. I like you even more now. Can I call you Lizzy?"_

Having my face blush at his comments just served to piss me off more. I did _not_ want attention from this jerk of an idiot! Seriously! Why did he have to be the only one to talk normally with me? Hell, this couldn't even be considered normal!

_"No you cannot call me Lizzy. Or I'll start calling you Gil. That's such a stupid name by the way. And I don't like you. You ruined my dress! You're immature and from what I've seen so far, you're nothing but a pain that everyone just suffers to have around."_

_ "Ouch. You don't pull any punches do you, Lizzy?"_

When I saw the words on the paper, I had to stare. A memory came back to me, hitting me hard between my eyes as it flashed and refused to disappear. I'd seen an albino once before in my lifetime. That's why it wasn't so surprising when I saw him today, and why I knew exactly what the red eyes and stark white hair actually meant. Because I'd seen it before. And I'd seen the annoying smirk before, too.

With shaking fingers, I managed to write back. _"Gil? Were you ever in Berlin? For a concert? As a kid?"_

I couldn't bear to look back at him as I waited on a response. My hands were starting to shake from the irony. Was it irony? If it was true...it couldn't be true. The world was too big for chance meetings like that. Impossible. Too rare. The little boy from my memories. He had been nicer. Easy to push around. Fun to hang out with whenever our parents met up. Concerts, plays, dances...we were always dragged along and always sneaking out to jeer at the people walking the streets outside or climb trees we weren't allowed to climb in our outdoor nice evening clothes or even better, sneaking around the concert hall for the best hidden seats that no one else ever found. Oh god. All those crazy antics. All those mostly forgotten memories.

It couldn't be...

The note came back. I turned to glance over my shoulder, catching the smirk, before opening the now ominous folds.

_"Took you long enough. No way I would forget that attitude, though it did take me a while, too. I mean, you actually look like a girl now, you know?"_

~!~

_A/N: My first het romance I think. Funny. Took a little bit to find her voice, but I think I got it. I haven't really written from Lizzy's point of view – a section of a chapter here or there in One Season but beyond on that, it's doubtful. The set up for this story is three points of view though so if you don't like my Hungary you can always be satisfied with my Gilbert or Roderich, I guess. Hopefully one of them will be good enough xD_

_Speaking of, next up we get Gil's point of view. Yay. My high school AU is so loaded. _

_Oh, and I am going to explain the comments about France's french. Lol. My sister always goes on about how it's silly to imagine all these people of different national origins in one high school, so I'm aiming for a little more realism. I'm focused more on their characters than their nations or nationality, too. Yeah. _

_Funny that Belarus is the first to show up besides the BTT and even funnier that she comes across as punk? Like, what, where did that even come from, brain?_

_This seems to be more comical than I first imagined. I can't do high school without doing comedy, though. Anime has ingrained it into my brain. Romance/Comedy/Tragedy? I dunno. That's kind of weird._

_~I love each and every review/alert/favorite; hit me~!_

_~Reda_


	2. Chapter 2: Gilbert

**Author Notes: **Second chapter is from Gilbert. Once again, reminder that this is NaNoWriMo so events may take place a little faster than the somewhat slower pace I tend to prefer when it comes to set up. The plot of the story is meant to be the romance, but there's several things going on here and quite a lot left open for me to explore and play with, which makes NaNo fun in the first place. Hope you can follow and enjoy delving into this high school AU as much as I enjoy writing it. I'm really not taking it _as_ seriously as I could because it's more about the word count and I'm using it as break material, so really it's just a fun escape.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 2: Gilbert

Today certainly proved to be an interesting first day of school. Normally, I hated school days, especially when Francis wanted to pay attention or Antonio was dazing out way too much to be entertaining. Most of the time we weren't lucky enough to be in the same class at all and I had to find ways to pass the time on my own.

Boy did I find a way this time.

The new chick turned out to be someone from my past. I know people talk about crazy coincidences all the time, but this was beyond crazy. A little bit awesome, too. She was still as rough around the edges as I remembered. Still threatening to beat me up, making it funny when she claimed I was the bully here. The glares she kept throwing my way in our first class, yep, still the same. I guess she really was a girl. I never expected to see her wearing a dress and being upset over a little mud, though. That part came out of nowhere.

I wanted to find out why she was here. This random nowhere town in America. The odds of finding her here had to be astronomically difficult – and if I had a good relationship with the math teachers, I'd probably ask them the odds myself just to prove my point. Although she did return the note a few more times throughout the lecture, eventually she did stop sending it back to me, and I had to be content with not receiving all the answers I wanted. Keh. She didn't even answer if she was a virgin or not.

What a bitch. I was just curious.

Of course, when Lizzy started ignoring me, I had to find other ways to entertain myself. Paying attention to the math professor certainly wasn't going to be one of them. I hated algebra and had no need to waste time learning any more than what I already managed to figure out. So, since all my options had run out, I decided to kick back in my seat and attempt to balance a pencil on my top lip. I caught an annoyed glance from the professor, but everyone in this town had already learned how little I cared about class and how pointless it would be to berate me in front of other students.

If I cared what the rest of the student body thought about my grades, I would have been my brother Ludwig. Eh. Okay, maybe that wasn't fair. Ludwig was just a perfect little child who did everything an adult told him. I was the troublemaker getting out performed by my brother at a young age. Not that it bothered me or anything – just that this fact seemed to get thrown in my face a lot more than I could handle. Did they really have to mention how awesome Ludwig was every time I made a mistake or came home with failing grades? My brother was my brother.

I was an entirely different person.

"Mr. Beilschmidt!"

Blinking into reality, I let my chair fall to all four legs and caught the pencil as it dropped from my lip. "What?"

"Can you not pay attention for once in your life?"

I rolled my eyes and started to kick my chair back on two legs again, holding onto the desk with one hand to keep my balance as the entire class turned their eyes to me. Yay. Attention. I lived for attention. So when the professor, chalk in hand, stared back at me in all seriousness, I decided to grace her with a serious answer. After all, she asked.

"Nope," I said, earning a few giggles interspersed throughout the classroom. "Didn't ever care to learn math."

With a sigh, the teacher shifted her feet and waved a small sheet of paper in the air. "We all know that much, Mr. Beilschmidt. You're a lost cause."

I'd heard that so many times in my life by now all I could do in response was grin wide and agree. "Yep!"

Which earned me more laughter. Definitely a good day. "Be that as it may, you've been summoned to the office. Let them deal with your attitude."

Letting my chair crash to all fours – and glad to see the teacher wince as it scraped against the floor – I kicked my feet out to climb out of the constricting desk. "First day and you're already sending me to the office. I didn't realize not-paying-attention was a rule I could break."

"It's not," Professor said, crossing her arms. "I'm not sending you to the office. You've been called."  
>I blinked, holding back the shock and bad feelings that hit my stomach at the clarification. Something must have happened elsewhere. They couldn't be calling me up to the office for any reason other than – shit, what had my alcoholic dad done now?<p>

For the sake of keeping my worthless reputation, though, I grinned and swiped the sheet of paper from the teacher's hand on my way out the door. "Well, guess that means I get a free pass on the first day of school. Lucky me, right?"

Without a backward glance – okay maybe one to check out Lizzy's reaction, only to be disappointed by the raised eyebrow of feigned curiosity – I left the chains of the classroom and met the freedom of the school hallways. As soon as I was alone, the thoughts started to swarm in. The worry as I read the notice from the office and let my feet take me there by autopilot. Something about my brother. And my dad. Two names I never wanted to see on the same slip of paper, yet there they were. Shit.

My first step into the school's office was the worst. The second was almost as bad, but the pure relief in my brother's eyes was enough to calm my racing heartbeat. He looked okay. Sure, he was in middle school, not exactly an innocent little kid but damn it I was the big brother and anytime he was hurt I felt responsible. So thank god he looked okay. A little shaken, though.

"What happened?" I asked Ludwig immediately, setting a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't beat someone up, did you?"  
>The blue eyes of my younger brother looked at me, then blinked over to the office workers before he shook his head. He didn't say anything but the gesture was enough. Something bad. Something he couldn't explain here. Dad must have really -<p>

"Gilbert, your father's been arrested."

The news came as a bit of a shock. Turning to the principal standing in the office lobby area, I frowned and set myself in between him and my little brother. Okay, so, I guess I should explain something real quick. Our dad is kind of – well – no, wait, I'll explain later.

"So why pull me out of class?" A glance to my brother. "Why pull Ludwig out of school and bring him here?"

The principle sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't like dealing with me. No one liked dealing with me. There was nothing new there. "Because without an authority figure at your house, you currently have no where to go."

I lowered my eyes. "Bullshit. We can take care of ourselves just fine without him."

Not even a flinch from my language. Guy was probably used to it by now. "Sadly, once we are aware that our students are without a parental figure at home, we cannot allow you to return."

"Why the hell not?" I spat again. "I'm old enough. I can take care of the both of us just fine."

Once again, Principal shook his head. "No, Gilbert. With your record, you aren't capable of doing that."

"Bullshit, I -"  
>My hands clenched but it didn't matter. The principal continued to shoot me down. "We will assign you to another house in the meantime. Our new residents, the Hédervárys, have reported in that they will watch over you both until such time as your father can return to his parental role."<p>

I blinked. That was Lizzy's family. Lizzy and her parents were going to be in charge of -?

"Though they may be new to the area – actually _because_ they are new to the area, they're willing to take you in," Principal continued on. "Don't fight it anymore, Gilbert, or we'll have to call Child Protective Services and that'll just cause even more issues that none of us want to deal with right now."

I could feel the growl growing in my throat. "What do you mean by that? Ludwig hasn't done anything wrong, and I'm in _high school_. I'm old enough to get a job, drive a car – I should be allowed to provide for-"

"That's the problem, Gilbert. You _can't_ provide. You're on the path to flunking out of school, you have no job experience, and you have a criminal record against you. No one else would volunteer to house you and your brother under the same roof. Ludwig would easily find someone, but _you're _the one thing holding him back from a better life right now."

If not for Ludwig setting his hand on my wrist, I might have reached out to punched the jerk in his throat. As it was, I managed to contain my ire and suck it up. Fine. If it was my only option, then fine. I'd get back at my dad later. For now, I just needed to remind myself that keeping Ludwig here and with me was worth the sacrifice of living in someone else's house for a while. Even if it meant living with Lizzy...

~!~

Eventually, I was allowed to pull Ludwig aside and get the chance for a whispered conversation in a corner. Whether or not our father had been arrested, it still didn't make sense for them to have pulled my brother out of school, especially if it meant bringing him here. Obviously they were using him to get me to easily agree to the "foster care" of a second house, not that I needed one. I was pretty sure I could live on my own at my age, but this tight-knit small town wasn't going to allow such an awesome thing to happen apparently.

Bunch of assholes.

So, sitting in a second, separated lobby area of the office – more like a little section of hallway where all the different administrator offices split off – I was able to finally get a chance to talk to my brother without interruption or scrutiny.

"All right, bro," I said, leaning my arm against the chair as I looked down on my blond haired little brother. "What happened on your end?"  
>He flinched at the question, which was definitely not a good sign. "I – Dad came to my school. He was arrested there."<p>

I frowned. More red flags. What the hell was dad doing bothering Ludwig in the middle of the day? Had he just given up on me? Keh. Stupid question. Of course he'd given up on poking me; I'd refused to acknowledge him on several occasions, having a teacher or two actually back me up enough to get Dad to stop coming to school. Don't get me started on why our father showed up to pester us so much. It's too much of a painful subject to explain all at once.

Besides, I had a serious issue to figure out. "Why? What did he do that made them call the cops?"  
>The blue eyes of my little brother glanced to the side and then down at his feet. "He – uh – had stuff with him."<p>

"Seriously?" I snapped forward, reminding myself to keep calm when I saw Ludwig flinch back; right, even to my brother I could appear scary with my red eyes looking pissed. "Why'd he take his stash with him when he went -" I narrowed my eyes. "Wait. Why the hell was he at your place anyway?"

A shrug. Ludwig knew about as much as I did about why our dad did shit. Probably less, actually.

When my blond-haired blue-eyed innocent brother just shook his head and continued to stare at the floor, I groaned and leaned back in the lobby-hallway-extra-whatever chair. So much for getting information out of my brother. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Keh. There had to be a way to figure out what was really going on. Our dad was a big ass most of the time, and he usually only bothered me asking for money – as if I would have money to give him. Funny thing was I actually did have a job of sorts working for a friend's family business, but no one at school knew about it, so the principal wouldn't even believe me if I tried to explain I was more responsible than our current father.

Oh, our dad had a job, too. Just not a stable one. On the outside we looked well off. Not exactly high scale rich, but well off enough to house more successful kids than, heh, me. I mean, no one took the hints of my overused outfits. Dad didn't spend money on new uniforms, after all. Well, not for me. He'd spend his drug money on Ludwig.

That's right. Drug money. Our father was involved in some risky shit, and now that he'd been arrested because he'd been caught _carrying his stash_ around with him on _school property_ like a dumbass...

"Shit," I groaned. "I sure hope he didn't owe anyone something."

I caught Ludwig's flinch again. "I think he did."

With a deeper frown, I turned to my brother. No wonder he'd been flinching back at the mentions of dad and what he'd really been up to. If _Ludwig_ – pure, innocent, perfect little Ludwig – thought our father was in trouble then things may have been a lot worse than anyone in this damn school or the rest of this town would ever know. If the debt was big enough, I could be in trouble, seeing as I was next in line in this "family business."

"Shit," I repeated as Principal guy decided to show himself again.

What was his name again? Johnson? Fuck, like I care about the adult names in this town. Anyway, Principal came out of his office walking down the hallway to the two delinquent brothers, er, delinquent and innocent brother I guess. And another guy came with him, all happy smiles and no doubt someone we were supposed to meet. Great.

"Ludwig, Gilbert," Principal said as the two came close enough to stand in front of our waiting chairs. "This is Vince Héderváry, your temporary foster father."

I narrowed my eyes. "Doesn't temporary and foster mean the same thing?"

"Gilbert," Principal Johnson intoned warningly.

I crossed my arms. "We aren't in the foster care system, you know. You can't just waltz in and take over our lives because you feel like it."

Although Principal looked like steam could start filtering out of his ears at any moment, Lizzy's father just laughed. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Gilbert, in the short time I've lived here with my wife and daughter, but I don't think anyone gives you enough credit."

I was about to open my mouth to snap another smart ass comment when his words resonated in my brain. "Wait. What?"

Only one other adult had ever cared to give me credit for anything, smart comments or not. My history teacher. The only one at the school who cared enough to understand me and the shitty family situation I suffered, how pointless it was for me to attempt anything except somehow I knew enough history now to make it possible for me to enjoy at least one of my classes. Right. Well, this new adult in town had just given me similar respect. Playing me or not, I was caught by surprise when I wasn't outright shot down or berated for my mouth.

And then the brown haired green eyed adult held a hand out to me as if offering to meet on equal terms. "Why don't we just start with what we know of each other and work from there, okay?"

"What's the catch?" I muttered, staring at the hand, knowing if I shook it I'd be agreeing to this arrangement without a fight.

"No catch," the man said, then chuckled when I sent him a disbelieving glare. "Well, I guess I'll have to tell you not to mess with my daughter, but other than that I'll meet you as an equal instead of a child. That's all you want, right? You seem mature enough to me. You're just being held back because you made a bad first impression on the town."

Okay, that was eerily close to the truth. How the fuck could he figure that much out? Whatever. He was starting to make a convincing argument, and I was completely thrown off balance. In fact, my hand reached out to shake his before I realized what was happening. And then my brain caught up.

"I'm only going along with this for Ludwig's sake," I muttered. "I could take care of him myself, but -"

Mr. Héderváry's smile was wide, but his eyes said much more when they caught mine and held tight; with his grip on my hand, he managed to tug me forward a little so he could whisper something between just the two of us, too. "But you don't want to get tangled up in whatever business your father was playing in, right?"

I froze. Hell, a tingling shudder went down my spine. This guy was good. Had he over heard me and Ludwig from earlier? Heck, had we said anything to give away what I was currently dealing with thanks to my dumbass of a dad? I don't think so, but then again...

No, this guy – Lizzy's father – was an important ally. Or at least, he would be better as an ally than an enemy. As sour as I felt about this whole ordeal, I had to make the decision. And it would make a lot more sense to work with someone who understood me than to fight them the whole time over a childish temper tantrum desire to have more control. Fine. I'd cave.

Damn. Living with Lizzy was going to be awkward as hell, though.

~!~

_A/N: Yeah, so that was probably confusing. I'm just jumping right into the issue. No setup of meeting the father beforehand, just this awkward moment explaining things happened. Honestly, this whole idea/scene happened without my planning. I really was aiming for something else, but I hadn't pinned down exactly what Gil and Luddy's home life was like besides I wanted major conflict there – between them and their father as well as a somewhat bad reputation of their whole family, something Ludwig tries desperately to over come and something Gilbert just shrugs off and uses as his fuel. My assessment of their hetalia characters, I guess. I don't know how much that makes sense, though. Hah._

_Anyway. Shorter than the first chapter and not any interaction with Lizzy, which is upsetting, but I guess I can't get them together every chapter. First chapter was kind of funny because of their interaction and we didn't even get a chance to play on what happened because ugh Gil's family drama. Anyway. We will. I mean, heck, they're gonna be living together now. _

_Now that I'm no longer in high school and have been out of high school for like almost 10 years (sheesh I feel old lol), I feel like it's actually a struggle to write from the high school student point of view, especially when I can't use my own experiences and have to add in family drama I never personally experienced. Heh. I can empathize with the adults, and yet I have words of Brandon Sanderson in my head "Middle grade novels – the adults are useless; YA novels – the adults are the problem" It's so different from the stuff I normally write, I dunno, I'm having fun at least. No idea if it's coming through, but here's to a crazy NaNo adventure! Kanpai!_

_~Reda_


	3. Chapter 3: Roderich

**Author Notes: **And now we get Roderich's chapter! Eh. He is the hardest for me to write, I swear. And yet there's some special connection to him. His music. I'm a music major and when I first fell into Hetalia I was like "AUSTRIA IS ME" because uhm, lol, music. That's so lame. Anyway. Now I can finally have an excuse to have a music prodigy in my story. Mwhahaha. Music. Have I said it enough, yet?

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 3: Roderich

If I had to play another Brahms Sonata for another guest I didn't care for, I would probably kill myself. In a very musical, fashionable way of course. Death by piano. No, wait, that was too obvious. Death by too many sleepless nights working on perfecting each phrase? Yes, that would be more accurate. Essentially, I was feeling overworked and overused. Pushed hard to succeed when all I wanted was a chance to relax. Yet anytime my mother or father heard me picking out the Chopin I had learned many years ago, well, they would come into the room and then spend hours lecturing me on the importance of expanding my repertoire. With a sigh at the thoughts rampaging through my mind, I leaned my head against the keys of the piano, hearing the dissonance clash as my fingers continued to hum against the familiar white and black I saw constantly in my dreams.

I needed a break.

"Roderich," and there was mother; right on cue. "Why did you stop?"

Sitting up, I pushed my glasses up my nose, opened my mouth to comment about the atrocious work schedule I was being forced to, but at the last moment I turned my head and lost composure. "I was rethinking my approach."

The false statement went through without question. I never had been the type of child to lie or hide things from his parents, so now I could use that record to my advantage. As long as it wasn't hurting anyone, I don't think it was such a bad thing. I wanted to please my parents, not disappoint or sound like a whining child.

From the corner of my eye, I watched my mother nod, heard her hum. My brain tried to call the pitch of her hum, but I shook it off. Not what I wanted to think of right now. "You do have an hour left in your practice schedule, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to run it over into your score study time."

Of course. I had to work to keep the disappointment from showing on my face. Other children didn't have to grow up with such a strict schedule of events for their life. Mother was always quite insistent on when I did what and where I traveled and what contests I entered, when I entered them. I was hardly allowed any time at all to delve into my own hobbies. Music should have been a hobby. Don't misunderstand. I loved my music. I loved playing. I just...wanted to play what I wanted when I wanted...I didn't like having to always follow the regimented practice schedules my mother planned out for me.

Standing up from the piano bench, I tried not to sigh again. "I will retire to the library, then."

"Hmmm," my mother hummed, still thinking through her schedule instead of paying attention to what I was currently saying. "Yes, and once we're back from our social dinner, you can have another hour of practice before bed. We'll double on school lessons tomorrow. You always finish those with time to spare anyway."

Right. I was a traveling prodigy. Homeschooled by a overbearing parent. I groaned at the thought of more practice time, though. At this point I would almost prefer a regular school life, high school drama and all. It would be better than this musical burn out.

"Can't I," I paused, as shocked as my mother at my outburst, but when I caught her staring back at me patiently I drove ahead. "Can't I have an hour of free time?"

"Free time?" Mother raised her eyebrows. "What would you be doing in this 'free time'?"

I shrugged. This was not going how I had hoped; of course I knew it wouldn't. "Something not pertaining to school or music, preferably."

"Absolutely not!" I winced at the exclamation; mother was not pleased. "You have a competition at the end of the week. Now is not the time to be shirking on your practice times."

"But-" A part of me could not believe I was standing up to her; perhaps I really was nearing a burn out.

Her eyes narrowed. "No buts. Since you refuse to practice in the time allotted, I will have to make time elsewhere. But for now get into the library and listen to the CD I made for you. It will help."

I held back the sigh. "Yes ma'am."

Nothing would ever change. Sometimes, I did envy the normal kid's life.

~!~

The social dinner was a common occurrence. My mother made sure to introduce me to as many musicians of the area that she could find, always ones with funds to aid us, of course. Not that we needed it. Father ran a tightly run business, benefiting from the perks of CEO of a large corporation. Mother budgeted and spent the money that Father earned. I was expected to do my part, too, which involved showcasing my talent and skills to win competitions world wide.

We met with the mayors of cities and other politicians. We met with composers and conductors of large symphonies, always hoping for a spot to showcase my talent in front of an orchestra. That _was_ the best way to spread a name, but there were tons of pianists clamoring for chances to play with orchestras. I would have to make it in news for them to choose me – or set a good enough impression in a social dinner or other event.

I knew my etiquette, of course. I knew how to be proper and how to be respectful. As a child, it was easy to sit still and let the grown-ups fawn over my skills. As the years went on, I was expected to participate some in the conversations. Simple, little things though, usually just when asked questions or to make certain the silence didn't drag into awkward. My mother was a social master, but now that I was in high school I was quite capable of handling my own social moments, even if it meant sacrificing and accepting the incoming headache.

Social events were exhausting. I wanted to interact with _normal_ people my age. I wanted to be involved in _real_ conversation, to see what life outside my little bubble was like. Being homeschooled and ferried around the world, I didn't even know how to talk to teenagers my age.

So when we met up with our dinner mates for the evening, I was stunned and put off balance to find that the composer my mother had arranged the dinner with – was an American composer with a son around my age. A loud, stereotypical American teenager, too, even if he was dressed up for the fancy meal. Throughout the exchange, I was left baffled as to why this composer would want his reputation to be touched by such a sloppy individual. I wasn't even given the chance to take part in the adult's conversation, forced to sit in front of and entertain the loud American teenager.

"So," the teenager said at one point as he tore into his food, speaking with his mouth full like some untrained ruffian. "You playing in the competition tomorrow?"

I blinked, watching his food spatter around his plate so haphazardly. "No, it's not tomorrow."

"You sure?" The uncultured boy slurped the juices from his meat. "Mattie said he was playing tomorrow."

I grunted. "Does he play a string instrument? Tomorrow is the violin-"

"Ah, yeah, that's right." Alfred – yes, his name was refined, too, nothing like his true self. "You must play piano then. That one's later."

I nodded. Had the idiot not paid attention to the introductions? Well, it wouldn't surprise me. He had been looking around at the night life of New York City instead. I had been in so many big cities, I didn't care to explore this one, but Alfred seemed to enjoy every little aspect he could find interesting. Like he hadn't grown up. A child in adult's clothing.

"You gonna eat that?"

When Alfred pointed at my half-eaten food, I took one more glance at the American's clean plate, and then shook my head. Without a word, I pushed it toward him and let him have at it like a dog. I sent a glance to my mother, silently asking her why I had to put up with this; my status should have been elevated enough not to play with the children, but she wasn't meeting my eyes and I soon gave up the pointless stares.

The rest of the night proceeded as expected, and I was glad to return home, even if I had to make my fingers bleed on piano keys once more.

~!~

The night of the New York piano competition finally arrived. I was feeling a little light headed by the time my turn came around and I took the stage. A deep breath, a reminder to forget the audience and focus, a little unnoticed blush as my stomach growled and I swallowed to try to appease the suddenly dry throat. The bench was comfortable. My mind was clear. My hands hit the keys.

And then the doubt hit me all at once.

Was this right? Would the judges prefer a different interpretation? Was I betraying my own joy of music by playing as indicated instead of what felt right? Would the audience know the difference? Would the judges?

As the sonata reached the exposition section, I left my fingers to do as they willed. At this point, thought was pointless. Doubting, re-thinking, that would only cause problems, even if my brain kept insisting on returning to those thoughts. I was losing focus. Losing the feel.

Except was there any feeling in the first place?

I had not been the one to choose this piece. My mother had. I had not felt a connection to Brahms. My mother had. I preferred Chopin or Debussy, not Brahms or Mozart as my mother did. This was not for me. This was never about me. This was about her and her showing off my talents, but it was more about her living the dream she wanted to have, using me to get what she had always wanted. No, that wasn't fair. She wanted the best for me; she just didn't realize I would have preferred to sit at home and play music on my own instead of fighting amongst my peers for social territory, so to speak. In the end, this whole moment was hers, not mine.

I glanced into the audience, catching a glimpse of my mother in the front seats. Her frown was the telling sign. I was off. Something was wrong with the way I was playing. The claws of doubt clawed into me and ripped me from the music entirely. I stopped.

Unfinished, incomplete, I stopped moving my fingers. My hands hovered over the keys, shaking. I stared down at them, unsure as to why this was happening. I didn't want to disappoint. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to impress. I wanted...no, did I really want this? Did I honestly believe I could be happy showing a false front?

Taking a deep breath, I thought about the question. Long and hard. Well, thirty seconds at most. Time tended to slow down in moments of great panic, but it was enough time to think, enough time to make a decision. To hell with the competition. I had already lost by stopping; my mother would berate me for losing my place, for forgetting the notes, for dropping the phrase in the middle and refusing to finish the picture. I had no picture. It was not my picture, not something I had envisioned into life; it was hers all along.

But there was something else I could do. Something I enjoyed. Something I could put heart and soul into.

Chopin.

My favorite composer. The one who spoke to me above all else. My hands returned to the keys and began again. I was going to use extra time doing this, but I wanted to go out with a spark of truth. Let the judges see who I was, not who my mother wanted me to be. As I dropped into the painting of my favorite tune, I felt the thoughts and feelings leave me. Unspoken memories and desires. Touches on the mind where words could not reach. All the deep meanings of the soul dripping free in the notes and nuances of one of Chopin's most famous Nocturnes. Not that I cared about the popularity of a piece – just that it happened to speak to me, happened to flow along my fingers so flawlessly as if I could feel what the music wanted to do.

My eyes closed. It tasted like freedom. The story of my life up until now told for all to hear, but I was only playing the music of my heart. Forget the competition. Forget my mother's annoyance or anger or disappointment. Forget the moment. All I needed now, all that existed, was the music sighing into the air and the sense of depth that all could feel, all could experience, but never explain.

When it ended, I lifted my hands slowly and took an extra space of time to catch my breath. The applause rocked the stage. Feeling caught up in the euphoria of the moment, in the sense of intimacy I had just shared with a crowd of strangers, I shakily got to my feet, stepped away from the piano bench, and bowed before the audience. A glance to the judges showed them applauding, too, but two were shaking their heads as they made marks on their sheets. A glance to my mom and I winced.

The light headed feeling returned, stronger than ever as I pulled up from my bow and started to walk across stage. I put a hand a hand to my chest and tried to focus my racing heart beat, tried to get enough breath to calm the nerves, to quell the intense emotion. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck and even my glasses seemed to be slipping, fuzzing up, or – no, my vision was growing cloudy.

I should have paid more attention to the warning signs before attempting to walk down the stairs. Light headed. Dizziness. Nausea. If I had spent more time learning my lessons instead of practicing so hard, I might have been more informed. As it was, a step down the stairs at the side of the stage, and I swayed on my feet. My hands reached out to attempt to grab the railing, but then my world went black and I tumbled into darkness.

~!~

I woke up to an empty hospital room. Father was on a business trip. Mother was no doubt socializing to pick up the pieces of my performance. Of course. No one would be sitting here worried about me personally. My family didn't work like that. I shouldn't expect it to, either. Especially after the stunt I pulled at the competition.

With a sigh, I glared down at the sheets, furrowing my eyebrows as I tried to remember what had happened. The sheets were a little fuzzy, a reminder that my glasses were off. My head ached a little, but the sensation was more surreal and distant than an upfront pain. Probably medications. It wasn't until I tried to move my arm when I hissed at the attempted movement. A glance down and to the side. My arm was in a cast. Broken. My eyes widened at the revelation.

My arm was broken. That meant I couldn't play. A one handed pianist would win no competitions, no serious, high society competitions. A career could be ruined because of a broken bone in the wrong place. I would be out of commission for too long to pick up the pieces of my little stunt.

No wonder Mother wasn't here.

Tears welled in my eyes and I took a breath to force them back. Hungry, sick, lack of proper nutrition, nerves, anxiety, whatever the reason – my world was going to be changing now. How long did it take a broken arm to heal? A few months? Mother would be furious. What good was I if I couldn't play? A normal child? How could she handle that?

A knock on the cracked door. I lifted my head to see two blond haired kids walking into the room. One of them I recognized from the social dinner a few nights back. The other was the violinist from the other competition. His rendition of Vivaldi's Spring had been marvelous, technically correct and full of the fire and passion of a personal interpretation. Heh. Something I was yelled at for including in my own music.

I sat up in bed and reached for my glasses, having to stretch my arm across my body to the piece of furniture on the other side of the bed. An awkward motion because my other arm was broken and useless. Just like me now. Useless.

"Ah, sorry to barge in like this," the violinist said, pushing his own pair of glasses up his nose as he stepped up closer to the bed. "I haven't even met you before."

Beside him, the almost identical brother shrugged and put his hands in his pockets before roaming around the room, obviously much more interested in the wall decorations and random medical equipment. "Eh. I met him at a dinner once. Dad said he wasn't real impressed with his attitude or his mom's, really."

"Alfred!"

"What?"

As the violinist berated his brother for his rudeness, I felt my face blush against my will. The embarrassment of being called out for an attitude – for knowing an adult thought I had an attitude. I didn't understand. I could almost understand my mom coming off as pushy or overbearing, even though I had believed all these years that her social skills far surpassed mine. But an adult thinking I had an attitude? When I had hardly said anything and been forced to interact with this ruffian – I glanced over at the sloppy American in his messily worn suit as if proving my point.

"I'm terribly sorry," the violinist said, bringing my attention back to their conversation. "My brother doesn't know when to shut his mouth sometimes."

Alfred mumbled something under his breath and I was happy to have missed whatever nonsense he wanted to spew. The American child walked around the room for the second time, finding the window and finally stopping his feet to stare out the hospital window. Not that there was a decent view. American hospitals in big cities weren't exactly known for their relaxing views.

"I am sorry," the other brother continued. "For walking in and insulting you-"

I snapped before I could hold it back. "You sure say sorry a lot."

The blond-haired musician blinked and swayed on his feet a little, as if confused at the snap, but then he rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, yeah. I get that a lot. Sorry. It's kind of a habit, I guess."

I raised an eyebrow. Because he did it again. "Right."

"A-anyway," the boy began again. "I guess I should start over. I'm Matthew Williams. This is my brother Alfred. We just wanted to come visit and make sure you knew you weren't alone."

I started to narrow my eyes, but then the sentence finished and I blinked instead. "I'm not...exactly used to company."

Matthew smiled, as if my response was a good one. "I figured as much. Your mother seemed more upset at your musical career than your health, you know, when you fell off the stage."

I winced. Too close to home.

"Oh, sorry," he said it again. "I didn't mean it like – well – I just wanted to come let you know that I understood. At least, I've seen many kids our age and younger being pushed like that by their parents and there's no happiness in their life even though they're doing something amazing."

I cleared my throat. Once again, way too close to home. I didn't want to hear this.

Matthew shifted his glasses, like a nervous habit. "Sorry. I keep getting off track. I-"

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, tired of hearing this stranger talk about me and my mother and my family relationship like it was something to be pitied. Even if it was. "Why did you come visit? We're not exactly friends."

Matthew shrugged, his eyes glancing off to the side. "I'd consider us more of colleagues than friends, because we both have parents behind us pushing us into these 'young stars' competitions."

I raised an eyebrow. From the way he had been talking earlier, it sounded like he enjoyed his family life. He had a crazy brother to chat with and who apparently hung around him to chitchat, too. I had no one. I had my mother and father but only sometimes and only when it was necessary to be seen together.

"I liked your Chopin," Matthew blurted out suddenly.

I jolted my head up to stare at him. "You did?"

His nod made my heart swell like nothing else ever had. Someone else liked my work? Not only my work, but my passion, my self. Playing Chopin left my heart open for the audience to see, to judge, to capture. To hear someone say they liked what they saw – it was the greatest compliment and the greatest sense of comraderie a musician could experience. Acceptance and joy from someone else when the music had been the truth of one's self laid bare.

"The Brahms was just notes and technicalities," Matthew went on. "Just like everyone else. Most everyone else, I should say, but then you stopped and the Chopin came free and -"

"And music filled the room," I finished.

Matthew smiled and nodded. "Yeah."

From the window, Alfred snorted. "Music nerds."

"Shut up, Al," Matthew said before turning back to me. "Anyway, I wanted you to know that so you could uhm – make a faster recovery and play like that again one day. If you had entered on your Chopin, I'm sure the judges would have-"

I sighed and closed my eyes. "It doesn't matter now."

My arm tingled. It felt strange. A tap or slight movement sent sparks up my arm, but they weren't so much painful as just different and awkward and like that little tingle you got when your foot started to fall asleep. Even though my eyes were closed, I could sense the brothers move out and leave the room. Matthew did say one last thing before vacating the room and leaving me alone once more.

"A broken arm always heals."

I sighed and opened my eyes to stare at the empty room, at the lack of gifts or notes. Two strangers visited me before anyone else. Of course a broken arm healed. I would be able to play again. It wasn't the end of the world, just a bump in the road.

If only my arm was all that was broken in my life.

~!~

_A/N: So this chapter is definitely Roddy centric and doesn't even have him at the high school yet, though I'm sure you could see how it is he gets there now. I wanted to write about where he was and what he experiences as a child prodigy. And for some RANDOM reason, Alfred showed up and then said "Oh Mattie plays violin in competitions, too" and I'm like "oh he does?" Then this happened. Somewhat emo Roderich? Who would have thought; I had no idea this was behind my image of Roddy this whole time, like, what? _

_Next chapter will be Lizzy, so no worries, we can actually get some PruHun going. _

_I wanted a love triangle where you can feel or care or possibly want either option, but this caused me to start bouncing between AusHun and PruHun videos and somehow I ended up listening to a ton of Billy Joel. Ah. All the music conversation. Haha. See you next chapter. Going to start it right now, so it should pop out soon!_

_~Reda _


	4. Chapter 4: Elizaveta

**Author Notes: **Back to Lizzy! Not sure if I'm going to cycle between all three consistently, but we'll see what happens. I know there are advantages in only showing one view point, but I like showing every angle. I dunno. I'm just weird I guess.

Oh! The "small town" is totally made up and I don't think I'm going to name it (not yet anyway) because I don't want to risk actually naming some small town in New York. Because, uh, that would just be awkward. I'm from a completely different side of the US of A so, yeah, that would be weird. Heh. I have to deal with seasons, too. Not used to real seasons in Louisiana. I'm assuming New York gets them. When does it start getting cold there, I wonder?

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 4: Elizaveta

The first day of school wasn't a complete disaster, I suppose. My teachers were willing to accept me, willing to work with me when they discovered how far ahead I was on certain subjects. Well, some of them were easily accepting. My English teacher was not understanding at all. I kept trying to explain that I knew English just fine, probably better than some of these failing losers, but she was so insistent on calling on me to read or explain a passage, pointing out every time I got something wrong as if trying to prove a point.

Beyond that, I had a decent day. After Gilbert left, of course. It was kind of strange. What kind of parent pulled their kid out of school on the first day? That's what we all assumed happened. Apparently, he was supposed to be in my history class as well. The history teacher seemed the most worried about him, too, before he distracted himself by asking me questions about Hungarian history.

Like I would know. Just because I was from the area didn't mean I knew all about it. Sure, I could talk about some cultural differences, but even then I was half American. My father was the true Hungarian. Living on a military base was entirely different. It wasn't all that bad, though. He asked questions and understood when I didn't know the answers. I might have turned out to like this teacher, if he wasn't constantly checking the time worse than any student in the class. As if he was counting down the minutes for school to get out. What kind of _teacher_ did that?

In the end, over all, not a bad day. Beyond the morning. And the mud stains. And the immaturity in a certain albino boy. God, just thinking about how that idiot was the same boy from Berlin...I couldn't understand how such a sweet and fun child could turn into such a hooligan.

But then again, Gilbert had been the only one to approach me and at least _try_ to talk to me like a normal human being. No one else seemed to want to have anything to do with me. I crossed paths with the long haired punk chick from the bathroom, but she only glared at me and mentioned once more her warning to stay away from her brother. Not even explaining who her brother was before she went to go eat with a tall, bigger guy with the same dyed hair as her. Brother? Or boyfriend? It was hard to tell -

Anyway, like I said, day went well. I walked home without an issue this time, and made it to my new two story country dwelling on the outskirts of town. Well, technically the school was on the outskirts of town, but our house was off down the road and an easy walk. Ten minutes? Twenty at most? Not a hard walk at all, especially when there weren't any jerks riding bikes and splashing people with mud.

My father was outside in the front garden when I showed up, and he stood up to greet me as I walked to the front door. Not wanting him to know that I had accepted this move, whether it was his fault or not, I ignored his smile and questions about my day and kept right on walking. Opened the door. Took my steps into the living room. And then froze.

Silvery white hair poked up from the side of the couch, and a step further in revealed the albino asshole laying back on my couch. At my entrance, he grinned up at me, setting the magazine he was reading to the side. "Hey, Lizzy. How was school?"

Standing over the couch, I fumed and glared down at him. "What are you doing here?"

Gilbert shrugged but my father answered, having come up behind me. "Oh, looks like you two know each other. That was quick, even for a small town. Liz, this is Gilbert, as you probably know; he's going to be living with us for a while along with-"

"_What?"_ I shrieked, spinning to face my father, not even giving him the chance to finish. "You can't be serious!"

Gilbert laughed as he sat up. "Told ya she'd hate the idea."

My father sighed, and I forced myself to calm. Being rude to my parents was uncalled for, unnecessary; they didn't know any better; they didn't know about the note Gilbert had passed during our first hour; they didn't know what kind of person this guy was or what kind of reputation he had earned in the school. No, Father was just trying to make it easy for us to fit in by taking in some...what...

"Why?" I said, after letting my emotions calm down a bit to relax my voice. "Why is he here?"

"Long story," Gilbert said, now behind me and standing up; as if that wasn't uncomfortable. "Tell ya over dinner?"

Feeling my blood start to boil, I crossed my arms and dug my nails into my arms. Had to calm down. Couldn't turn around and punch the jerk, not in front of my dad at least.

As if he could feel my anxiety and anger at the albino's presence, my father set a hand on my shoulder and spoke over me to the guy in question. "Gilbert, could you give us a moment?"

"Oh, uhm," the albino took a moment to respond, but he did seem to back away. "Yeah, sure, the tension in here is too damn high anyway."

"Thank you," my father said with a nod as Gilbert left the room, the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs. "Now, Liz."

"Why?" I repeated, putting a hand over my eyes. "Why is he here?"

Dad pulled me into a hug then, as if he could sense the urge for me to cry. Such a girl thing to do – cry like that, but the stress of a first day in a new school added to – to _this! _"I know, I know, it's sudden and surprising and for that I apologize. I would love to give you the details, but since Gilbert is in your class, I think it would best if he told you the reasons. Just know that he – and his little brother – are going to be staying here because of issues in their own home."

"Issues?" I questioned, pulling back from the comfort of my father's chest. "What kind of issues?"

For once, my father looked unsure of himself, torn between answering and keeping the privacy of someone else. Finally, he let out a breath. "You should really ask him that. It's not my place to say."

I groaned and rubbed my arms as I stepped away. "Fine."

"Great," Dad smiled. "Now do you want to tell me about your first day?"

To which I shook my head, picked up my bag, and started to make my way up to my room on the second floor. "Maybe later."

I had a sneaky, immature albino to question.

~!~

When I walked up the stairs, I was surprised to find the door to my room wide open and a young blond-haired boy hanging around the edge of the doorway. I shifted my backpack against my shoulder and stepped up closer, this time trying to be as quiet as possible. The blond-haired boy must be Gilbert's brother that my dad had only mentioned in passing. At least he looked cute and like an innocent standing on the outskirts of whatever craziness his bad boy older brother was dragging him into. Oh, by this point I was pretty sure the albino asshole was in _my_ room.

"Brother," the boy said, shaking a little even if he hadn't noticed me. "I don't think you should be in her room."

_Good boy. I like this one._

"Keh. Whatever. I'm trying to find the non-girly things. I know she's got to have them somewhere."

_Non-girly things? What the hell is he trying to find? And why?_

Stepping up to my doorway brought attention from the little boy. A pair of bright blue eyes looked up at me, then gulped. "Uhm, brother..."

"_Wat?_" I blinked at the harsh snap from the albino. That almost reminded me of my visits to Berlin. Once again, I was reminded that this albino jerk of a guy was the same boy from my memories, the same one from my past. Why did it have to be him? "Look, Ludwig, if you're scared of getting caught you can go ahead and leave."

I smiled at the now named little boy, who shakily stepped back and away. I must have looked really pissed. Well, I should. I could feel the anger heating my body. Making certain to hold a tight grip onto my backpack, I took the few more steps necessary to enter my room. Smiling sweetly the entire time when I decided to speak, so as to keep my voice from betraying the blood boiling in my veins.

"How thoughtful, Gilbert."

I watched as his shoulders tense and he turned away from my dresser, a magazine in hand. Where did he keep finding those? His red eyes found mine, widened at first, then smirked. "Oh, hey, Lizzy."

_Smirked. _And responded _casually_. Like I wasn't something to be terrified of, like he wasn't scared of me catching him in the act of destroying my privacy. Oh, he was going to get it for sure now.

A few steps and I was close enough to reach out and touch him if I so chose. Not that I would willingly touch this jerk. Not without causing some form of bodily harm. Maybe holding my anger back was a bad idea. I was going to snap and do something I would regret later. Maybe. As long as I didn't actually hurt him _too_ bad, it would be fine...

But then Gilbert found a page in the magazine – one of my old magazines, I noticed – and he started to laugh absurdly loud. "Never thought you'd be into boy bands, Lizzy."

My face heated. When he showed the page of a popular Hungarian boy band from the 90s, my nostalgia hit me for a moment, and then I saw why he was laughing so hard. All the girly pink hearts and lips drawn onto the picture, mostly around one guy in particular. My arm moved by itself. I swung the backpack up and smacked it into the albino's head. Hard.

So hard, in fact, that he dropped the magazine and stumbled back a few steps, holding the back of his head as he cursed. "Shit! You trying to kill me?"

I didn't grace him with an answer. Just stood there, eyes afire, and lifted my backpack again, threatening. "Get out of my room."

"Ah, shit, Lizzy," Gilbert cursed again, but he did run out, rubbing his head as he fled the scene of my simmering anger. "You still don't hit like a girl, that's for sure. Fuck."

"Gilbert..." I said warningly, turning around to see him hanging at the edge of my doorway. "Get-"

"All right all right," he said quickly, holding up a hand palm up in a form of surrender. "I'm going. Shit. Didn't have to hit me. What the hell do you even have in that backpack?"

The question did not need to be answered. He was already walking away, probably finding whatever empty room Father had set up for him. I dropped the backpack on my bed, along with my purse, and closed the door for some real privacy before sighing loudly and angrily. Having to deal with him was going to be worse than I imagined. Not only would I have to deal with his antics at school, now I would have to find a way to keep from killing him at home, too. Why did my parents have to agree to this? What had happened with the albino's family to make it possible for him to even be over here now?

Damn it, I was going to talk to him, but finding Gilbert in my room and then him making fun of that _old_ picture...

Now I'd have to calm down before I could work up the control to handle a conversation with him. Maybe I could waste time doing something else in the meantime. Homework would satisfy, I guess, even if most of it was easy as hell.

~!~

The moment I managed to finish all homework, a knock echoed against my door. Expecting my dad or mom, I got up from my desk and walked over to open it politely. After all, it was probably only the bell for dinner, so to speak, but I didn't want to be any ruder to my parents than I already had been. Dinner was a family meal, a time to sit down and talk of our day, so I could allow the niceties for this hour, especially since I finished my homework just in time, too.

I did say _expecting_ to see my parents, right? Well, thankfully Gilbert wasn't the one waiting for me at the doorway, but I was shocked to see the small boy from before. Was he in elementary or middle school? How old was he? He hadn't hit puberty yet, but that didn't mean he was still a young child. His mannerisms at least pointed to being more refined than his ruffian of a brother.

When blue eyes looked up at me and the boy stepped back immediately, I knew I had to put on a smile for this child. It wasn't his fault his brother was such an idiotic ass. The younger one – what was his name – was much more well behaved. "Uhm. I was sent to tell you that dinner was ready."

"Yeah," I said, putting on my smile. "I figured. Where's your brother?"

At my kind voice – hopefully sweeter sounding than his first impression – the boy blinked and then looked down at his shoes. "Oh, he doesn't want to come. We – uh – we don't really have family dinner at our house."

Even if the statement was shocking and a little sad, I felt my eyes narrow all the same. "That's not a good enough excuse. What's he going to do for food? Eat in his room? Mom won't allow -"

"I think," the boy winced at interrupting me but when I stared down at him he plowed ahead. "I think he'll go out later and get something from Francis or Antonio."

"His friends?"

Blond-haired cutey nodded. "Yeah. That's what he normally does. Makes sure I get food then takes care of himself on his own."

"Really now?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow. I couldn't believe it. "Are you saying Gilbert takes care of you normally? What about your parents?"

The blue eyes flicked away at the question, and he rocked back on his heels as if uncomfortable with this particular turn in the conversation. "Well, my mom...I don't know where she is...and dad doesn't really..."

"Never mind," I said quickly. "I'll handle Gilbert. You go on ahead."

The little kid looked up at me. "Are you sure? Brother doesn't usually change his mind easily."

I crossed my arms. Yeah, I could believe that much about the albino ass. Whether or not he was actually responsible in taking care of his younger brother, whether or not he came – they came – from a broken household, it didn't excuse his actions. He was still terrible in his treatment of me and I would never forgive that.

"If you two are going to be living here," I muttered, then winked at the blond haired boy as I left my room, shutting the door behind me. "Then you have to follow the rules of the house. I'll make sure he knows that."

Without waiting to see if the blond haired child went downstairs or not, I searched down the hallway for the open room where Gilbert and his brother had most likely been placed. Honestly, my parents bought a house with a guest room. Where else would they throw the charity kids?

_Okay, not fair to call them that. You don't know the situation._

When I reached the guest room, I opened the door immediately without thinking. Why would I need to knock? This was my house and usually this room was vacant anyway? Besides, if someone wanted privacy they would lock the door, right?

Wrong.

I walked in and my eyes widened upon seeing the white-haired red-eyed guy sitting on the edge of the full size bed. He was no longer in his uniform, wearing a black shirt with some graffiti like designs on it – like from a rock band or something, no doubt. The thing that made me freeze and gasp was the knife in his hand, pressed against his wrist. My little noise was enough to cause him to freeze as well, red eyes looking up and widening in mirror image to my own.

"Gilbert," I whispered, trying to get my voice to work.

Apparently he had the same problem. "Lizzy."

We stayed like that, staring at each other. My heart raced. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. I had never seen such a sight before. I'd laughed about it, poking fun at the crowd of kids in school who talked about doing harm to themselves on purpose, but I had never seen it in action before. Understandably. I didn't associate with such people. Except now Gilbert was -

"What," I cleared my throat to try again, even as I managed to take anther step into the room. "What are you doing?"

His eyes dropped, then his hands moved lightening fast. The knife went behind his back and he looked up at me with a grin instead. A grin I now understood to be a mask. "Nothing."

God, I felt like I was walking in on a private moment, like I had just learned a secret better left to the dark. And yet at the same time, my heart filled with pity. _A rough home life. _His brother showed signs of abuse now that I thought about it with the way he was always glancing away and wincing back at questions pertaining to family. What had Gilbert suffered? Did he act like an imbecile in school in order to have control over some aspect of his life because beyond school life was hell? Or was I just feeding my imagination and it was something entirely different?

"Why are you here?" I asked into the silence.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. The moment of weakness, of truth, was gone from his face. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? The door was closed, you know."

I shook my head. "No, I meant. Oh come on, you know exactly what I meant."

A long sigh escaped his mouth. More of a groan and a show of exasperation. The knife appeared again, but only so he could click it back into a sheath. Oh, right, I forgot to mention that it was a _real_ knife – not a kitchen knife; like, one people used to fight with. Never mind why Gilbert would have a knife in the first place and then use it for such a thing. First impressions really didn't get the full picture of a person at all.

"My old man got arrested," the albino finally said. He stood up and walked to the main dresser in the room, sliding a drawer open to drop the knife in. "The town leaders refuse to accept the fact that I can handle the responsibility of taking care of myself and my brother without needing some kind of foster home. Not my fault your parents volunteered. Your dad, I guess."

I hummed to myself as the information took its sweet time to process. "Your dad was arrested? Is that why you-"

His eyes immediately narrowed. "No. That's not – I don't even know what the hell -"

"I can help-"

"No, you can't," his response was quick and sharp and his eyes were glaring and dark. "Don't worry about it. Now," his eyes brightened a little as he no doubt changed gears. "My turn. Why are you here?"

With a huff, I decided to allow him this distraction. He didn't want to talk about it. Fine. I'd figure it out eventually. We were being forced to live together, after all. Surely after a few months, I would know everything about him. And then some. So I could be patient. I could wait.

As he waited for my response, I put my hands on my hips and glared back at him. "It's dinner time."

His red eyes seemed to blink between bright and dark, though that was probably just a trick of the light and a coincidence to go along with his apparent confusion. "And? What am I supposed to do? I already told Ludwig that I wasn't going to come downstairs."

Now it was my turn to smirk at him. Ah hah. Finally the conversation I was expecting. "Except you are. No one in this family misses a chance to eat around the table. My mother isn't home all the time, so every night we get is special."

"That's nice," he said. "I'm not part of the family."

"Except you are," I interrupted, grinning at his exasperated look. _I win this one. _"So help me, I will force you downstairs to eat with us if you deny the offer one more time."

That only served to make him laugh. A loud bark as he held his sides. What a jerk. I was serious. He was supposed to come downstairs with us to eat, and I wasn't going to take no for an answer. I really _would_ force him to follow me if I had to. One way or another we would all suffer the family gathering together.

"Right," he snorted. "Good luck with that."

And then he turned away from me. Oh, that attitude pissed me off more than anything. Clenching my hands into fists I took a breath and let it out slowly. Keep the force, release the anger. "Fine. Have it your way."

Without another moment, without giving him a second chance, I rushed up to stand in front of him. His eyes went wide, clearly not expecting me to make good on my threats. His arms came down, but I was already moving. And my hand was on his ear like a mother punishing a mischievous boy.

"Ow, ow, shit, Lizzy," he exclaimed, but he had to walk with me as I tugged him step by step. "You crazy bitch."

At the insult I smacked him on the back of the head with my other hand, making sure to keep my grip on his ear and keep him moving. "Don't call me that."

Gilbert whined. "Fucking hell. You're still crazy."

Stopping at the stairs, I sniffed. "Are you going to cooperate and come quietly?"

"Yeah, yeah, just, _mein gott_ let go." Interesting. German words thrown into his English. I did let him go, though. Dropped my grip and set my hands back on my hips, a raised eyebrow to let him know I was watching. "Shit, I get it. I'm coming down, okay?"

I nodded. "I know you are."

And then I pushed him down the stairs. Because the opportunity was too perfect to pass up.

~!~

_A/N: Uhm. So. Once again. That came out of nowhere. Honestly. Otherwise, I would have warned about it. Not even sure to what extent, but...eh. Yeah that happened. Next chapter is Gilbert. Maybe we'll learn more, huh?_

_~Reviews are my fuel to continue faster, except not cause this is NaNo and I'm writing anyway no matter what kind of reviews I get~_

_~Reda_


	5. Chapter 5: Gilbert

**Author Notes: **There's going to be a time-skip at some point. Multiple points. We'll see whenever it feels right. Just thought I'd throw up the warning that it _will_ happen eventually.

Chopin has been a major inspiration. Turned on a playlist and just let it carry me away. Gotta love awesome romantic piano music, I guess. I should look into Liszt. He's Hungarian, right? I think so. Been a while since I took that Music History class. Hrm.

Also: I want to clarify something. I cannot stand the cutting fics that are out there (especially because they seem to be in every other PruCan, which is one of my favorite pairings). But I've been through depression and I feel like I can write about the experience well enough. Not so much the cutting thing, cause that makes me squeamish just thinking of it, but this is more on the edge of suicidal – in that "for attention" way as some would say. Ah. Well. No details. Just thoughts. So yeah. Enough warning, I hope?

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 5: Gilbert

She caught me. I could cover up and pretend nothing happened, but it didn't change the fact that she actually caught me in the act. Not even my closest friends had seen me doing something so – damn it, why did I even cave in and try anything? Why couldn't I hold that part of myself back? It was so annoying and not at all awesome and I knew it, but I still wanted to...

Well, it didn't happen. And Lizzy was the one to stop it, whether she realized how close I had been that time or not. I grimaced as I looked across the table to see her worried eyes. Worried. Pity. Fuck. Not what I wanted. My mask was impenetrable. Nobody was supposed to be able to break into it and see the inside. Hell, most of the time I didn't even know what I was like underneath anymore.

But she had seen a small part, and now I was terrified of her sharing the secret.

So much so that I backed off on the teasing. Oh, I would have continued to tease the hell out of her even with her parents present, even at such a beautiful little family dinner like this, which by the way my stomach and chest couldn't agree on how to feel about being a part of something like this. My little brother was lapping up the attention, of course, being polite and smiling away and wolfing down the massive amounts of food. Well, they were massive compared to what we usually got to eat, so it was no wonder his eyes were dazzled by the sight.

I knew better. I wouldn't cave so easily. I mean, come on, Lizzy had pushed me down the stairs earlier. Abusive bitch. Her eyes lit up as if she could reach my thoughts and I winced and returned my attention to the food. Whispering in my mind, I reminded myself of one little important fact. _Abusive bitch who caught me._

Damn it.

"So, Gilbert," Lizzy's voice broke my inward dialogue and I glanced up warily from my food, noting how the entire table was now focused on me; what was her game? "Did you know the history professor seemed quite worried about you today?"

Ah. I could see what she was trying to do. Well, it wouldn't work. I was smarter than that, so I smirked and stabbed my fork into the chicken on my plate. "Yeah? Doesn't surprise me. Fritz is the only one who cares in this town."

I watched Lizzy's eyebrow raise and was a little surprised when her parents didn't jump into the conversation. In fact, her mom had been quite absent of most conversations, being more of an observer at this point; I had to wonder what that meant. After all, it was the dad who had brought Ludwig and I into the household. Who knew if the mother actually wanted to accept us or not? She did keep glancing at me, then half-glaring at her husband. Great. Was I going to be the cause of another broken household?

"I'm sure that's not true," Lizzy was saying, pulling back to the conversation and away from my thoughts. "What about your two friends?"

"Hm? Antonio and Francis?" I hummed while she nodded. "They're different."

When I didn't elaborate, Lizzy pursed her lips. "How?"

With a half smile on my face, I stuffed some chicken in my mouth, marveling at the strange assortment of spices but loving the food all the same. "You'll find out soon enough. I mean, what, it's only your first day. Things will get interesting by the end of the week, I promise you."

Her lips puffed out. A pout. Kind of a cute face, which was a complete lie because of her attitude. I mean, honestly, pissing her off was so easy but at the same time if she was alone with you it was dangerous. She didn't hit like a girl, not even now. Her punches _hurt_. And she knew just how to swing a backpack or purse at your head to make your brains shake. I swear. My vision probably blinked – okay, now I was exaggerating, but that's the idea. She was no push over. Still the crazy tomboy I remembered, even if she tried to hide it with her dresses and pretty face and sweet talk. I knew the truth.

And I was going to be the only one to approach her for a while because of it.

That's the thing about small towns. They aren't too keen on outsiders or visitors or newcomers at all. It's like the feeling of having someone join the tight-knit family you've been guarding for generations. It would take a long time for anyone to warm up to her, to them. Except me, because ah hah I've been the outcast for so long I didn't give a damn about new or old or anything of the sort.

Besides, we knew each other when we were kids. That had to count for something.

"You know," Lizzy groaned. "I don't want things to get interesting. At least not according to _your_ standards."

I smirked. The line reminded me of the past. I loved thinking of the past, until I remembered what the present was like and how everything had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. Ludwig never got to know the joy of traveling in Europe, of seeing concerts and playing with girls that were too much like another boy to take seriously. Maybe he would in the future, but now? Yeah, I tried to do everything I could to give him some kind of decent past to look back on at least. I wasn't sure how far it was going to hold up.

"Doesn't matter," I mumbled back at Lizzy, shaking my fork at her before stabbing it into more chicken. "Wait until homecoming at the very latest. Things always go crazy around here during that time, especially at the school."

Lizzy groaned again. I chuckled. I was making it sound worse than it was, but even now it was too much fun to mess with her. Seeing her green eyes roll. Watching her frown in worry and then disbelief. There was something...nostalgic and special about it.

Whatever. Maybe I was just weird and tired from all the excitement of the first day. It had been a long day, after all. No one could doubt that.

~!~

Eventually the rest of the house had gone to bed – finished dinner, taken baths for those who wanted, Lizzy's parents even retired to their room earlier than expected considering I'd always been a part of a late night household. I waited until I stopped hearing noise from Lizzy's room. I checked to make sure Ludwig was asleep in the full size bed we were supposed to be sharing. Heh. Guess you couldn't expect them to have extra beds just lying about and we _were_ brothers so it wasn't like we hadn't ever shared a bed before. You did that kind of thing with your siblings, until reaching an age where it just got awkward. To tell the truth, it was almost awkward now.

No matter. I didn't care that much. I was a night owl anyway, only partially because the sunlight was uncomfortable. Hey, I was albino; I had to wear a jacket when the sun was out to protect my skin – and sometimes I even wore a pair of sunglasses or a hat when the sun was particularly bright. It was really no surprise that the night time life called to me; plain and simple, things were just more comfortable at night when I could wear my short sleeve T-shirts and not give a damn about the sun burning my sensitive skin.

Sneaking out of the house was a lot easier than I expected, too. The stairs didn't squeak or creak on my way down. Holding my tennis shoes in hand and walking on the fake wooden floor with socks made it simple to get to the front door without even needing to worry about noise. Granted, carpet would have been easier, but the carpet didn't reach the entire house and certainly not the walk ways. To my surprise, there wasn't even a light on downstairs or outside. Pitch black, and the door was unlocked, opening without a creak of its own. I hadn't realized how nice and new this house was; damn, Lizzy's parents were lucky as fuck.

Standing out in the night time air, I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my hair. Sections of the spiky mess fell against my forehead while the rest no doubt stood up however it wanted; I never did care much about my hair. I got enough flak for having such an odd hair color and eyes; I didn't care to mess with actually having a hairstyle or all that nonsense. I was going to get stares and whispers no matter what I did, so why do anything?

With a shake of my head, I pushed those thoughts to the side and tried to focus. I wanted to go by my house and search for something my dad may have left. When Lizzy's father had taken us by the house earlier, Ludwig and I had been focused on getting our things and getting out; we didn't want to give anything away about our father's drug-dealing job, even if that was what he had been arrested for. Now that I was alone, I could see if there was anything he'd left, like a list of his debt or small amounts of payment he may have been working on even if he'd run out of time. Who knew? Whatever the case, I needed to search the house before someone else found me, and I needed to search alone. So, with that in mind, I tied my shoes and started my nightly walk.

Funny enough, Lizzy's house wasn't too far from mine. Antonio's place was around the bend somewhere, too, but I was pretty sure it was on the other side. And Francis actually lived in town so there would be no chance of running across him. The only people I needed to watch out for were the Spanish speaking family that lived out in a cabin in the woods – or wherever the fuck he came from. Toni was weird. He wasn't really keen on people visiting his place, like me, like he had a secret to hold back, too.

Whatever. Less chance of finding him out here.

The night air had a little chill to it tonight. Nothing too crazy. It was still the end of summer, after all, though some might argue it was the beginning of fall. Heh. I could remember when school started later _after_ Fall started _after_ the leaves started turning colors, not before. Keh. Stealing our summers from us, that's what they were doing. Adults didn't know shit about how to handle education. Not like I cared, but all the talk of helping us out was bullshit. All they did was politic around and pretend to care just to get votes and who actually gave a fuck what happened to the children?

Though I wasn't sure if I could consider myself a child anymore. I had a drug dealer for a father, a mother who had gone missing what seemed like forever ago, and a brother who looked up to _me_ to make any decisions about where we were going and what we were doing. Well, he looked up to me less and less as the years went by, which was good for him. The less he had to associate with me, the better. I already had a terrible reputation because of my acting out in younger grades, and there was no way it was going to change, so better for Ludwig to find other friends, to make his own path.

Granted, it was so damn hard sometimes to let him go.

I kicked at a stray empty can on the side of the road – you never knew what kind of litter you would find out in the country, believe me. My house was just down this dirt road here. A three story mansion of a building. White washed walls. Blue paint interspersed around the windows. Dried and peeling now because no one was keeping it up. When I walked up the porch, I glared at the door and took a moment to fight back all the memories of when the house had been full of people, of when things had been nice.

Everything was different now. And there would be no going back.

I barely had time to put a hand on the wooden door before a shadow shifted at the corner of my eye. I blinked and turned my head as my hand reached for the knife in my pocket. I wasn't fast enough. The shifting shadow was quick and precise, appearing as a person just in time to shove me against the door and lock my wrists behind my back. Face pressed into the wooden door, I growled a curse.

And then felt my breath hitch as a gun pressed against the back of my head. "Gilbert, right? You're the albino son. My you've grown a lot since I last saw you. How are things?"

Such a fucking asshat being all polite and soft spoken and casual even as he threatened me and held me down so I couldn't even turn my head to look. Fucking _shit_ what was my dad involved in? "I don't know where anything-"

"Ah ah ah," the man said, gun pressing harder against the back of my head. I closed my eyes and tried not to freak out. "I wasn't asking about that. Don't jump ahead in the conversation. That's not nice."

Not having much more of a choice, I clenched my useless hands behind my back, digging my fingernails into my palms because I couldn't do anything else. "Dad was arrested. I don't-"

"I know," the man tsked. "I also knew you would show up eventually, so I staked out the area and waited patiently. Aren't I nice? I could have interrupted your nice new family dinner, but I waited here instead. If I were a lesser man, I'd say you owed me for that much."

My mind was a whirling conflict of emotions and thoughts. I couldn't focus. Well, what would you expect? I had a fucking gun at the back of my head, a guy I recognized only _slightly_ by his voice playing polite visitor as if he wasn't threatening shit. It was no wonder my body started to shake. You would have done the same. I couldn't put up a front forever. Especially because I didn't hold any of the cards; I really didn't know where dad kept his stash or his payments or anything at all dealing with the drugs. I just knew he was involved. I never did learn how much.

In hindsight, probably would have been a good idea to learn.

"All right, Gilbert," the man said. "It _is_ Gilbert, right?"

I was amazed that I could respond without a single unwanted tremor in my voice. "Yeah."

Granted, I only said one word, and in the process gave up a part of my identity. Once again, not that I had much of a choice here.

"Great!" The guy chirped. "So here's the deal. With your dad being arrested and all that severely disrupts our operation here, especially since we so recently increased his shipment and payment. Such a problem for us. So what we're going to do – you and I, that is – is we're going to search the house for the stash of goods. You follow?"

I gulped. Just what I feared. I didn't have a single fucking clue where to look. Even if that had been the main reason for me coming here. I was going to search for it anyway. I just didn't expect to have to search under pressure. Damn it all. I really hated my old man right now.

"Yeah, I follow," I grunted.

The hands dropped their grip on my wrists. The body moved away from pinning me down. The gun pulled back. And when I turned around to try to see the man I was speaking to, I found nothing but a shadow hovering in the darkness. These guys didn't like to show their identities very often. Smart. Wish I could do the same. Damn it.

"Great," I could see the man's grin as it lit up the darkness, though. "You're making this easy. I appreciate it."

With a groan, I turned back around. Rubbing my shoulder with one hand, I tried to let my thoughts focus. Had to find a way inside. The door was locked thanks to Lizzy's father earlier today, which meant I had to find the extra key. Shit. Where was it? Why couldn't I think straight?

The hovering presence behind me was making it hard to think, but with trembling fingers I did eventually manage to find the key under the mat. Very original, I know. Whatever. It wasn't like it was my idea. After that, opening the door and navigating through the house would be easy. My first guess was my old man's room. Up the stairs, to the right, and a long process of digging through drawers, flipping furniture over, searching the mattress of the bed, the closet, anything I could think of. All the while, the guy with the gun stood in the doorway and watched, waited; I could feel his eyes crawling along my back, staring, watching. God damn it was creepy as fuck and making it hard to search.

When I found nothing, I had to stand up and face the hooded stranger – oh yeah, he was wearing a hoodie to keep himself from being recognized. "He didn't exactly tell us about this, you know."

The guy twirled his gun along his finger. Which only served to set me on edge more, honestly. "Us?"

"Yeah," I answered without thinking. "Me and my brother."

"Ah that's right," the grin lit up again. "I forgot you had a brother."

_Shit. Great job, Gil. Now he has leverage on you. Well, more than before. Now you've gone and put Ludwig in danger. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Taking a breath, I tried to refocus. I had to get away from this guy. Had to get him out of here. All without getting too caught up in this business. If I could find Dad's stash, everything would be solved. I just had to find it first.

So, with the little hovering shadow following me, I searched elsewhere in the house. The kitchen. That was dumb, but hey you never know. The den. Nothing. The music room. Heh. Yeah we had one of those. Not that anyone did anything. Except me. Sometimes. Not very often anymore. I had to pawn my flute for food money. But these rooms all used to have some use. Not anymore, and no matter where I looked I couldn't find any trace of the stuff Dad would have been dealing. Which only made my palms sweat more and my body shake more because the guy was still trailing me. With every step, I could tell he was getting annoyed, too.

One last hope. The basement. Dad didn't really go down here often, but neither did we. It was the only other place I could think of. Mom used to have a workshop down here – you know, back when we still had a mother. I pushed the depressing thought to the side and made my way into the basement, making by back to the wine cellars. Mom had loved her wine, after all. All the old good stuff and -

Turning on the light revealed all the goods and I froze immediately. No wine. Not anymore. Bags of druggie goods. Row upon row upon row of it. Covering the whole back wall, and so out in the open. Well, out in the open for someone that would have known where to look. If I was ever searching for mom's old wine collection, I would have been more than disappointed. I would have been sickened to find out that Dad had replaced it.

Fuck, I was still sickened by the sight.

The man with the gun walked past me, humming as he started counting the stash. I kept my eyes on him and the gun, knowing it would be pointless to run or anything. He had a gun. All he had to do was turn around and shoot and I'd be gone. Hell, he could probably find a way to hide evidence. Heh. Down here in the basement of an abandoned house. No need to look much farther for a place to hide a dead body. I was in deep shit no matter what I did from this point on. It was simply a matter of when the guy let me go, or what he would do with me – if he wanted anything else – from this point on.

"Well," the guy turned back to face me, cocking his gun at pointing at me again. I tensed. "Looks like we have a problem, Gilbert."

After a moment, I managed to speak. Eh. Squeak, I guess. "Problem?"

I'd never heard my voice go so high before. Apparently, the man didn't care or notice. He probably scared enough people in his lifetime to not notice such little things, not even to smirk at them.

"We're missing half of the goods," the man said and then sighed. "Which means I have to employ you to cover for your father's fuck up. You understand, yes?"

_Shit._

I gulped. I knew it was going to happen. All along, I knew something like this was going to happen. The moment I heard the news of my father being arrested. I knew this was going to happen. Why did my heart have to fall into the pit of my stomach? It shouldn't have been such a shock.

Putting on a brave face, I took a breath and nodded. "Yeah. I figured. How much?"

"See, this is why I like dealing with the younger ones," the man said as he stepped closer and patted me on the head like I was some _child; _well, honestly, to him, I kind of was. "You make my job so much easier. Too bad this is a tall order. I don't know if a beginner like you can make it happen. It would be such a shame to off that little brother of yours."  
>I clenched my hands and gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to punch him. Right. Cause punching a guy with a gun was such a great idea. "How much?"<p>

The man hummed again, glanced over his shoulder at the stash. "250,000."

My eyes bulged. I fell to my knees and hung my head as I stared at the ground. The number was insane. That much money? And that was only half? How the fuck was I supposed to come up with two hundred and fifty _thousand_ dollars worth of drug money? Drugs or money, it wouldn't matter to them, surely, but they would have to be paid back some how.

"Such a shame," the man sighed. "I have a soft spot in my heart for young ones, though, so I'll give you extra time." A pat on the head as he walked out. If it had been anyone else I would have snapped his fingers for touching me. As it was, well, I was in too much shock over my awful luck to care about the childish petting. "See you Christmas Eve, Gilbert."

Christmas. Great. I was fucking screwed.

~!~

_A/N: Oh wow. Hah. This is what you call reader knowledge. You get to understand what all three of them are going through while they only know about themselves. Heck yeah, this is going to be interesting. If it isn't already. I have no idea if $250,000 is a realistic number or not; I mean, I'm not a fucking drug dealer what the hell would I know, lol. All I know is that's a huge amount of money for a high schooler. Heck, it's huge for an average American. Also, I keep intending to write these scenes with the Bad Touch Trio when I get into Gil's point of view, but it never happens. I wonder why._

_~Thank you for all reviews/alerts/favorites; they really do brighten my day~_

_~Reda_


	6. Chapter 6: Roderich

**Author Notes: **And back to Roderich. Still not sure if I like the three point of views switching constantly, but it makes it easier to write quickly, so that's what I'm sticking with. For now. It may change in the future. Just a little warning.

Funny that everyone seems to have this family drama going on. I did not initially intend for this to happen. Ah, the joys of writing during NaNoWriMo. So much appears that was not originally planned. I love it.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 6: Roderich

The next day, I stood with my mother as she signed the papers releasing me from the hospital. Beyond the fact that I had been unconscious from the fall, there had been no real reason for me to even be in the hospital, but I suppose when you're my family you don't take any risks. At least not those kinds of risks.

As my mother signed off, she didn't say one word to me. Not a "hey are you okay." Not a single "hope you're feeling better now." Nope. Nothing like that at all. I shouldn't expect it or ask for it, though. I could only look around at the nearby family of four who were fawning over a sickly child. He didn't even look that sick – just a stomach flu. Who brought their kid to the emergency room for a stomach flu? Really? Then again, he was getting all sorts of attention, and a part of me couldn't help but me somewhat jealous.

When we walked to the car, when I sat in the front seat and struggled to buckle my seat belt on my own, Mother still did not say a word. I did eventually manage to get the seat belt on, even though it was awkward and made difficult by suddenly only having one arm to work with, but I wasn't going to get help from her. No, I was expected to learn and do everything on my own. I always had been.

What was home life like? Following a strict regiment of pre-planned events. That was my home life. That was my life with my parents. I very rarely saw my father, and only saw my mother when she wanted to correct something I was working on. Sitting in the car next to her, I could almost feel the anger and disappointment radiating from her body. So much thrown away in one selfish act. I shouldn't have done it, no matter what the blond haired violinist had said. Even if Chopin was more my style, more relate-able, more from my heart, I still should not have tossed my mother's hard work aside and ruined my reputation for a few glory moments of fame.

Moments I didn't even get to enjoy, really.

I mean, honestly. I enjoyed the moment of playing Chopin on stage, of releasing my pent up feelings, but I barely got to experience the applause. I didn't get to hear what the judges had to say. No, I had to steal attention in another way, too. By falling off the stage, hitting my head, breaking my arm. No wonder my mother was angry and disappointed. I had acted no better than any other rebellious teenager. If I was her and my son had pulled what I had done, I would have been just as upset.

Probably.

There were no words as we drove to the upscale apartment on the outskirts of New York City. We had no need for huge houses everywhere we went, though there was the summer home in Austria. Mom's hometown. I rarely got to visit unless Mother had scheduled a competition in the area. I didn't interact with her family or Father's family, either for that matter. There were a few other houses, some would say mansions, scattered throughout the world, but not in New York. Not in this part of America. Not that I knew of, anyway.

Beating back traffic made the car trip that much longer and that much more awkward. Mother did not like to drive. Not normally. She must have been out of town when she decided to swing by and pick me up. What a disaster. She would be even more annoyed and disappointed and angry now. It was unnerving – the silence, that is.

I sat in my seat, fiddling with the cast on my arm. How long until it came off? I had to wonder. How long until I could play again? Even my fingers seemed to be itching to play again, and it hadn't hardly been a day yet. Tracing designs along the markings on the cast soon turned into a private game of composing. Music played in my head. I couldn't be rid of it. Of course not. I loved my music. It was a part of me, such a deep, integral part of me. What would I be able to do with one hand? How long? It was agonizing just thinking of it. A musician would almost prefer to break their leg than their arm or fingers. At least then you could still play, even if you had to be wheeled around.

Of course organists would say differently, but they were a separate breed entirely.

When we made it to the apartment building, Mother still did not say a word. She didn't help me out of the car, either, and I quickly learned how challenging every day life movements were with only one arm. Not impossible. Just a little different and unexpected. I followed her to the building, saying not a word myself. She would talk to me if she wanted; I would not instigate a conversation. I didn't want to start anything, and I didn't want to run the risk of sounding like a whiny teenager or even worse – a bratty child. So I kept my mouth shut and followed her shadow.

We entered our apartment, and Mother pushed on ahead, leaving me to close the door behind us. For a moment, I stayed at the door, wondering when she would talk to me, if she would talk to me. What did she really think about my stunt? Was she worried? Did she care? I shook my head. Of course she cared; she just wasn't very good at showing it, and she shouldn't have to, either. I had disappointed. I had gone against her wishes. Mother had always said I was better than most teenagers because I did not seem to show any signs of having a rebellious streak, and then...

And then I played Chopin instead of Brahms. Not only that, but I stopped in the middle of a performance. No one did that. Not on purpose. Was it on purpose? I had to wonder. No, of course it was on purpose, even if my brain and heart had been at war with one another I was still the one to stop the music. I stopped the music. More than anything, that thought alone was enough to wreck my mind. What kind of musician stopped in the middle of a performance? We were taught to always continue, no matter what happened. So...I guess it really was a cry for attention.

How disappointing.

Standing against the door, I sighed, and almost missed my mother's call coming from the other room. "Roderich. Wait in the living room. We'll talk there."

Putting my free hand against my cast, I sucked in a breath and nodded. All right. So she would talk to me. I knew it. Of course she would talk to me eventually. She must have been spending the time away to focus her own thoughts, a way to keep her anger from exploding on her child. Mother prescribed to the current idea of child abuse, that spanking and yelling and any such violent acts were detrimental to the child. No, she used common sense and disappointment to get her way. Well, to make her point. It worked, too, because I did not respond well to disappointment.

I feared disappointment.

And that was exactly what I had caused. With worry filling my mind, a twitch in my step, I walked to the living room and sat on one of the plush sofas. Mother was rummaging around in the kitchen. The smell of coffee eventually hit my nostrils and I breathed in the scent welcomingly. The hospital had carried the smell of coffee, too, but it hadn't been the same. Of course they wouldn't have the sweeter scents, the calmer, more expensive brews. Mother liked her coffee well made, so I had grown used to only the best, not that I partook of the drink myself. Not often, at least.

After a few more moments, Mother joined me in the room, seating herself on the sofa across from me. Her eyes studied me and I looked away, feeling ashamed. There was so much I had done wrong in letting myself be free. So much she could yell at me for. So much she was going to make me regret just by sitting here telling me all the logical reasons for why I had made a huge mistake. Following your heart was not something Mother understood very well, and not an argument that she particularly cared to debate against.

"Roderich," she said, and I glanced up, feeling the weight of my cast against my body. "I don't feel like I need to waste your time speaking of what you did and what it has henceforth done to your career. You're a smart boy. You understand well enough."

I nodded. I did. I was currently beating myself up for the very reasons she would have given. A career ruined, even if I had gone out with a bang. Even if a fellow musician had given me one of the greatest compliments. An understanding I had not experienced anywhere else. I still had to wonder what the judges thought of the performance, but I would likely never hear the result as Mother would never _waste time _feeding me compliments when I had gone against her wishes.

"Your father and I had a good long discussion about the matter," Mother said as she took a sip of her finely spiced coffee. "He thinks I have been pushing you too hard and that you are no doubt nearing a burn out."

I blinked. Not what I had been expecting. Father said that? How did he know me so well? He never saw me, and yet he spoke _for_ me when Mother had no doubt raged to him about my mistake. About my rebellious teenager act in front of a live audience. I was even more shocked by my mother's next words.

"I must apologize if this is the case, Roderich," she said, and I could do nothing else but stare and wonder what had come over her. When the silence grew too long, Mother was quick to jump into social skill mode and change the subject. "Anyway, as I said, we had a long discussion about what to do from here. Your father feels as if you need more interaction with children your age. After what I witnessed, I am forced to agree."

This time, I managed to find words. "But I do have interaction. I meet other-"

"Not competitors or fellow musicians, Roderich," Mother interrupted. "You need a high school life. A true school life, away from the world of adults. It should be a great chance to refocus and regain your desire for the competition. Even professionals need a break from the rigorous lifestyle of a traveling musician, after all. We feel that we have denied you this opportunity for too long."

I felt my mouth go dry and worked to swallow. "High school?"

Mother nodded. "Yes. I trust this will not be a problem."

I shook my head but could say nothing else. A wish I had made earlier in the week. A wish to experience a real high school life with normal kids. Now that it was before me, handed to me, I had no idea how to react. Should I be angry for the change about to happen in my life? Should I be happy for getting what I had silently wished for? Why was I not feeling crushed for the disappointment I had caused? Why did my mother actually appear concerned? Concerned in her own little way, but still...

And what was I supposed to expect? I had heard it said to be careful what you wish for, but I had never truly expected this chance to happen. I had lived in the world of spotlights and music and competition. What else was out there? The drama on the television – was it real? Did it happen?

"Roderich."

"Yes, ma'am?"

Mother's eyes twitched at the response, as if she had grown accustomed to my silence. "Your father and I will not be joining you. You understand, right? We have our own work schedules to deal with, and now that you are no longer competing across the world, I will have to focus more heavily on my own work."

Oh. Of course. I would have a high school life, but without the family. I should have known.

"I understand," I said, even though a big part of me did not. "What school are you sending me to?"

This time, she smiled. "A friend of mine lives in a small town not too far from here. She runs a small restaurant in the area and has only one child, but there is room in the house for you. They even have a piano, so you will not be without your practice time. Once your arm heals, of course."

The first mention of my arm, and though I noted the narrowed eyed glance to my cast, it was gone so quickly I could easily move on to worrying about what she had said. "I'm living with another family?"

"In a way," my mother said, her words sounding almost rehearsed. "She is a single mother but she works hard and was a dear friend of mine in college."

As if she had to defend the life of a single parent. As if being a single mother was something to be ashamed of. My mother had grown up in high society, still lived in high society, where such things could be looked down upon. Of course she would feel the need to defend her friend, even in front of her own son.

"I am sure you will be fine," Mother went on. "And well taken care of, but you handle yourself well enough on your own."

Of course I did. I was always left alone. Or with a maid. I didn't cook for myself or clean for myself, but I knew how to make sure my needs were taken care of even without such things. I was not worried about living with another family so much as I was slightly upset to realize my parents would not be joining me. I should have known. Not only was I being sent to high school instead of being ferried around the world and shown off. I was being sent to a small town high school to live with a different family. Almost as if...The thought, the truth, the understanding knowledge hit me like a piano falling off a stage, sudden and unexpected.

They were kicking me out. I was leaving the family; Mother and Father would drift even further away from me than they already were, and I would grow up somewhere without them, some place where I could not be a disappointment.

And all I could do in response was nod and go along with it, once again wondering if my three minutes of fake childish fame had been worth this new turn of events.

~!~

When Mother dropped me off, I stood outside in the green lawn, staring at the house behind the trees full of changing autumn leaves. The house was not what I had expected, and I felt out of place standing outside like this, but I could not move. A small place separated from the rest of the houses in the area, but it only looked separated because of the lawn I was not accustomed to seeing. There was more space between these houses in this _neighborhood_ then there ever had been in any apartment building. Sure, the mansions scattered throughout the world where I had visited, lived for certain times of my life, had been far apart from any other distractions of society, but this was still more – and less in its own way – than I had expected.

As I stood there, alone, my two suitcases of important clothes and necessary collection items standing beside me, I found myself unable to move forward. What was I going to do when I knocked on their door? How did I address them? Her, I suppose, unless the child answered the door. How old was this child? Upon further investigation of the house, another thought hit me and I grimaced silently at the idea. Where did they have room to keep a piano? From this vantage point, I couldn't see where a piano could even fit comfortably. Unless they had an upright and not a grand, but Mother wouldn't say piano if she meant one of _those_ kinds.

Would she?

Before I could ponder further, a boy around my age pulled up on a bicycle. He stopped at the edge of the driveway and stared back at me, looking rather well-to-do and dashing in his well kept school uniform. The blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but it at least appeared well kept, too, unlike the majority of men and boys alike who decided to wear their hair long. We stared at each other for a few moments and I fought the urge to pull back, though I did bring my arm-in-a-cast closer to my body.

Mother was gone. I would have to confront this problem, this issue, this new person on my own. Social standing was important in high school. If this guy was a high schooler at all. I had no way of knowing for certain – indeed, the very thought of being forced into those school uniforms rankled my pride – but it would be best to assume he was instead of getting it wrong and being forever shamed.

Even though I opened my mouth to speak, the other guy beat me to it. "Are you planning to stay out here all night?"

I shut my mouth, felt my face heat slightly at the casual insult, and held my head high even if I felt foolish inside. "No, of course not. I was merely unaware of the procedures to politely-"

"Whoa, you're definitely not from around here," the blond haired student said as he climbed off his bike and started wheeling it up the drive way. "Come on, Mom warned me we would have a visitor. I just didn't expect to see someone of obvious high society standing on my lawn looking lost."

I blinked at the interruption and then once again at the words behind them. This was the child my mother had spoken of? When she said child I had expected a little kid, not someone my age. Though I was still assuming he was around my age, I was even more certain this was the case when he locked his bike to a rack at the front of the house and then came back smiling slightly with a grace to his step I had not assumed possible from someone who came from the house of a single mother...from the back woods of society.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You still look lost."

I grimaced and furrowed my eyebrows as he took my bags and started walking toward the front door. Not having much other choice, I followed. "I must admit, I am...confused."

"Why?" He asked, setting one bag down at then opening the door and raising his voice as he entered. "Ma, I'm home! And your visitor is here!"

I heard a rustling from within and stared back at the boy, once more finding myself unsure of myself. Unsure, confused, lost. What was I supposed to do? What was expected of me? I couldn't read any of the social cues because I had not lived this life before, and I was so befuddled as to what my role was. Guest? But what was I meant to do as a guest here? Shouldn't I be helping with something? On that note, why was this guy helping with my bags? Where was the maid or family worker to help with such things?

"I-"

Interrupted once again as I took my first step into the new world, I gasped as a small woman grasped me in a hug. The strangest greeting I have ever received, especially from a person I did not yet know. To be honest, I could not even recall my parents greeting with a hug. We were never that type of close family, if you could consider us close in the first place.

"My, Roderich," the woman said as she pulled back and I furrowed my brows again at the knowledge that she knew my name, however much it made sense seeing as my mother had set this up. "You have gotten big these past few years."

I blinked. "H-huh?"

"You probably don't remember," she said with a wave of her hand. "I'm Miss Maria from your mother's friendly social gathering years and years ago. This is Francis. He's just a few days older than you, dear, but you probably don't remember him, either."

The blond haired boy, now thankfully named Francis, shrugged as he held onto my suitcases. "Don't worry. I don't remember what she's talking about, either."

I looked between them, unable to come up with anything to say in response. I needed to speak politely, but they were both off in a different world entirely and I wasn't sure where to go to find them. Or if I should even bother. Instead, I tried to focus elsewhere. Tried to breathe and ignore the feelings of dizziness that were trying to assault me. I wanted this life. I wanted a change. I needed a break from the competitions and the stress of the stage. But...

But...

"Roderich," Miss Maria said with a smile. "Francis will take your belongings to his room. I am afraid you will have to share a room with him while you are here. If there's anything else I can do for you to help you get acclimated, please let me know."

I glanced between her and Francis, wondering what it would even be like to share a room with someone. I had always been several rooms away from my parents. On the opposite side of the apartments. Far away from any contact beyond the maid, and even that had been rare. What would it be like to share a room?

No, what did I want. My fingers itched. My arm grew numb at the thought as it entered my brain and I had remind myself there would be no playing, not like I wanted.

But...

"Do you have a piano?"

A stupid question. I knew the answer. Mother had promised that they did indeed have one, but I liked seeing the face of Miss Maria light up at the question. She glanced at my arm but didn't say a word about it. I was thankful for that much. I did not want to explain why I asked, or what I hoped to accomplish with only one working arm. The truth was almost embarrassing. For now, all I wanted was to sit somewhere familiar.

Or at least...as close to familiar as I could manage.

~!~

_A/N: Yes, Austria gets to live with Francis. Haha everyone's living with each other. I dunno. Vash is off in Switzerland, so there's no chance of living with Vash. And I think France and Austria are friends, at least during some point in history; they work together, maybe? I'm not too sure; I've always been more vivacious about devouring Prussian history as opposed to anything else, but I do seem to recall both France and Austria loving their music. Ah well. I think they can make good friends. We'll see what happens, though. Next chapter the three get to meet each other. Finally. All three of them together, yeah? Lol. This will certainly be interesting._

_Roddy with a broken arm and can't play his piano; I'm actually drawing on second-hand experience. A friend of mine played piano in the jazz band and had an accident in which he broke one of his arms and yet he was still determined to try – or play one handed. So that's where I'm pulling from. Haha. _

_Thank you for the reviews and feedback so far. I love hearing that others are enjoying it and I'm working hard to push out these chapters. Not too sure how many chapters there will be, but I will keep them coming, even if it's not finished by the 50,000 word mark goal of NaNoWriMo._

_~Reda _


	7. Chapter 7: Elizaveta

**Author Notes: **So, honest moment. Not too sure what to do next. I mean, yeah, I've set things up for the ending and for a few scenes along the way, but as far as right now? Eh. Think I'm going to have a little more Lizzy alone time and then see what happens. The stage is set. Now to push forward, but what to do first? Hrm. Let's see what NaNoWriMo pushes me to write. This is the fun part.

I hope to have these three together soon. I really, really do. I also think it's incredibly close and soon we're going to start seeing all kinds of drama and, yeah. I love my slow build ups, and it's really helpful to know where the end is and where I'm going, but the story itself is still open as to all the details. That's the fun in writing after all.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 7: Elizaveta

Walking to school with Gilbert Beilschmidt was the worst experience of my life. First off, he had a bike, which meant he would ride circles around me or ride up the street and then come back. Every time he rode off, I held my breath, hoping he would keep going. But then he would come back and I would flex my fingers against my backpack strap wondering why he kept coming back to me.

Ludwig. It was Ludwig's fault.

The little brother walked beside me, keeping to himself, but I was sure if he hadn't been there, then Gilbert would have shoved on ahead without a care in the world. For whatever reason, there was softness in the red eyes whenever Ludwig wanted something or whenever his little brother was brought up in conversation at all. I hadn't noticed at first, but the annoying albino asshole apparently had some emotions worth holding onto deep in that crevice of a jerk heart. Big brother feelings to watch over the one younger than him.

Well, I suppose there was a saving grace for everyone.

After what felt like the hundredth time of Gilbert riding circles around the country road, I sighed long and hard. "Why on earth do you even bother with the bike if you're not going to use it properly?"

He skidded to a stop ahead of us and stared back at me like I was crazy for asking such a thing. "Shouldn't it be obvious?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No. It's definitely not obvious, Gilbert, or I wouldn't be asking."

"I don't know," he hummed as we walked up closer to him. "I feel like you miss a lot of obvious things. You being a girl and all."

_Oh he did not..._

Without a second's hesitation, I walked up to him and swung my pack at his head. He yelped as he fell from his bike, coughing in the dust of the road. His brother knelt beside him and pulled the bike up, but even Ludwig was shaking his head like he could agree with my actions. Damn right he should.

"Brother," Ludwig muttered, "You shouldn't antagonize her."

Gil brushed dirt out of his hair as he got to his feet and I smirked and walked on by. "Fucking abusive bitch. She shouldn't hit me so hard, even if I did deserve something."

I rolled my eyes. "What? You so weak you can't take it? You'd think a tough guy like you could handle a few smacks from a _helpless woman_, wouldn't you?"

"Keh," Gilbert scoffed. "You're no helpless chick. And you know it."

I shrugged and continued to walk ahead, trying to leave him in my dust. I didn't need to watch over Ludwig. The boy could handle himself and if he couldn't, then Gilbert would take care of him. I didn't need to watch over or suffer walking with Gilbert, either. From now on, I had determined that I would leave earlier so as to leave him in my dust without having to knock him off the damn bike to do so.

Oh, and I should mention the fact that his comment had absolutely no affect on me. Nope, none at all. I didn't care about being a typical girl. I was glad to be different. I was glad to be the type to protect herself. I didn't need to be a stupid damsel in distress. I could handle myself, thank you very much, and I wasn't going to let some misogynist dick's comment get me uncomfortable.

"Good," I muttered to myself as I walked on ahead. "It's not like I want or need a guy to protect me from the assholes of the world anyway."

Because I didn't.

~!~

It wasn't the first day of school anymore. Neither was it the second. But it was still the first week and Gilbert's words that first night haunted me in the back of my mind. Words saying things would get interesting this first week. How things would change with his friends. How the town would go crazy during Homecoming week, but Homecoming was a month or more away so I wasn't particularly worried about that part. Not yet at least.

I walked the hallways surrounded by people but alone. Gilbert was the only one in the school who gave me a wave or grin, which made me happy to have him around and yet annoyed at the same time. His reputation was awful. I figured it had to be bad, but I didn't realize how bad until later in the week.

Lunch hour was one of the worst moments of school life for me. When you didn't have any friends, there was no such thing as time to relax. Sure, some nerds may have been perfectly fine sitting alone and reading or wasting time in the library after eating, but I was not like that. I craved interaction. I needed socializing on some level. As much as I postured about how I didn't need anyone, deep down inside I was sorely missing my best friend who was half a world away.

I sat at a table and ate alone. I had picked out a little spot on the edge of one of those long cafeteria tables. There were other people sitting at the table, of course, but always a few seats away from me, and always engaged in conversation that clearly was not meant to include me. Natalia, the girl who had met me in the bathroom my first day, was always at this table, and always glaring around the place as she sat next to a tall guy with equally white shaded hair. Similar but not the same as Gilbert's. The fake white. White blond or dyed, I still couldn't tell, but definitely not the same as the albino asshole who tormented my daily school life.

I soon learned that Gilbert didn't torment me alone. He was all about bothering others. Or interrupting and annoying a whole crowd of people. This never was more apparent than during lunch hour.

In his typical loud voice, Gilbert Beilschmidt called out for the attention of the entire cafeteria. "All right, fellow members of accepted public school prison, it's time for your weekly announcement!"

A chorus of groans flowed throughout the cafeteria and I glanced around to realize everyone else was both accustomed to this announcement idea – and rather unwelcoming about it. Except for one. The tall platinum blond haired definitely-had-Russian-in-his-genes brother of Natalia. He only smiled at the albino's antics and sat forward in his seat a little curiously, even as his sister growled and glared.

"What is it this time, little bunny?" The guy said as Gilbert hopped up on the table where his trio of friends was sitting. "Are you going to admit to your gay pride?"

"Shut up, Ivan!" Gilbert snapped back, red eyes hot with anger. "I can support my friends without participating in their marches and – shit – that's not what this is about anyway."

"Oh?" Ivan responded. "What is it about then?"

I had no idea what this gay pride business was about, but clearly these two had some sort of history. And I was curious about Gilbert's view on the matter, not that I cared much for political leanings. I had lived somewhere besides America; why would I care about their political bullshit anyway? Still, the very little hints that were dropped in that icy smile and snappish retorts led me to believe there was something deeper and quite honestly I was curious to know about the town and the people that lived here.

Even if it meant getting to know a certain albino.

"I was going to make the point," Gilbert said with a scoff and a sudden glare that circled the entire room. "That I think you guys are being assholes to the new members of our student body."

_Oh god. Please tell me he isn't...I don't need the attention. I don't want the attention. This isn't going to end well. Doesn't he know by bringing attention to me he's going to ruin any chance I have of striking out with my own social standings? _

"New members?" Ivan questioned, apparently being the only one to respond nicely even with his icy smile.

There were a few other remarks, of course. For one, a lot of people were shouting at Gilbert to get off the table and to go back to whatever he was doing and to leave the rest of them out of it. No one cared about his stupid announcements or comments on the student body's current representation.

"_Ja_," Gilbert said, the harsh German sound adding to his affirmative. "For one, there's Lizzy."

_Oh god, he did._

And what made everything worse was the moment he jumped off the table and came to sit next to me. Feeling my face heat up at the attention of nearly everyone in the cafeteria, I brought my hands to my head and tried to keep my own gaze on the food in front of me. Ignore the loud albino now sitting next to me. Ignore his words. Ignore his movements. Ignore everything -

That was impossible.

"Lizzy here," Gilbert went on, putting an arm around my shoulders and making me grind at my teeth at the urge to throw him off. "Came all the way from Hungary, so she's bound to have awesome stories to tell. Hell, I knew her when we were kids, and I can tell you she's pretty fucking awesome."

I heard a scoff from the table. Not Ivan, but the sister. Natalia. "Then that makes her your girlfriend?"

_What? No. No way. No chance in hell._

Gilbert's response pretty much echoed mine. "What?"

"Good riddance," Natalia went on. "You two can carry on together without interrupting the rest of us."

_Oh no. I can't. This won't work. I can't allow this. I won't let them think -_

"He's not -" I cleared my throat, tried again. Hearing my voice coming out like a meek little child, all whispery and unfocused. No, I wouldn't stand for that. When I caught the wide grin of the albino out of the corner of my eye, and felt his hand start to travel lower, my anger exploded. Right on cue. "He's not my boyfriend!"

My elbow moved first. I shoved it into his chin or maybe his throat, knocking him back and away. One move didn't feel good enough, though. I was angry enough that he would ruin my reputation. Angry that the townspeople and kids would think I was actually _going out_ with this asshole. Angry that he would even dare to _think_ I'd be okay with him as a boyfriend. I had plenty of reasons to turn around and beat him to a pulp, but I did manage to hold back.

A little bit.

~!~

Of all the things I had anticipated for my first week of school, being admonished in the principal's office was not one of them. Starting a fight was not one of them. Getting detention was most definitely not one of them. Being stuck in detention with an annoying albino asshole was even further from my list of expectations.

Seeing Gilbert's bloody nose and growing black eye was worth it, though. I was sure my parents would fuss at me when I got home today, if they found out the reason for Gilbert being so banged up, but I would deal with that issue when it happened. For now, I had to find something to gloat over, and if I had to hold my head high as I accepted the detention and tongue lashing from the school's principal then so be it. After all, Gilbert got the worse end of the deal.

Being beat up by a girl was sure to ruin him even more. Then again, I doubt he cared much about reputation when his was already far at the bottom. What was the point of his stunt anyway? Was he trying to drag me down with him? Because so far, he was being successful and it was pissing me off.

Be his girlfriend? Hah! What an absurd idea. He was at the very heart of all my problems and I wanted nothing more to be away from him for good. Except life kept throwing him in my way. Okay, so life itself and its little coincidences was pissing me off even more than Gilbert Beilschmidt. So be it.

Sitting in detention was the worst ever. Well, maybe not. I couldn't decide what the worst thing to happen so far had been, but this was most definitely one of the most boring. For his part, Gilbert leaned back in his chair and started humming to himself much to the annoyance of the guarding teacher. He got told to be quiet and to set his chair down, he surprisingly did as told, and then the quiet encased the room once more.

I was a little surprised to find that we were the only two in the detention room after school. I guess no one else was crazy enough to start their stunts on the first week of school. I guess most people actually tried to behave at first and things just blew up over time. Then again, this was a small town. There were decidedly less chances of seeing a full room of detention every single week.

Well, at least I finally had the peace and quiet to get my homework done. Math was easy and done with quickly, though I disagreed with the amount handed to us. It felt like busy work, but I was quick enough to rush through everything and be done with thirty minutes still left to waste in detention. History required reading, and I did not want to read right this minute so I grumbled and looked around after finishing the math.

Imagine my surprise when I saw Gilbert reading his history book, and by the looks of it he was delving ahead. Was he done with the homework reading assignment or was he skipping to a part that he was interested in? If the former, I was shocked. If the latter, I was completely floored. Then again, the history teacher had been the only one worried about Gilbert's absence on the first day and the albino did seem to be the one answering most of the questions in that class anyway. So what was it about history that made the loud and obnoxious albino shut up and learn? Curiouser and curiouser.

With a groan, I turned to my English homework, and then just as quickly finished those assignments. Easy and annoying, especially because the teacher had the nerve to hand me extra busy work just to "make sure I was caught up." What a bitch. Really. I could handle it just fine. I was not stupid because I came from a different country no matter what she thought. What was wrong with the American education system if they had the nerve to treat foreign transfers like total idiots when they transferred in? I was ahead of most of their citizens and _still_ had to work harder to prove myself.

The sound of snoring broke me out of my inward ranting and I turned to see the albino had fallen asleep with his history textbook open. I rolled my eyes. So much for Gilbert actually caring about his education. Amazing, though, that the teacher would allow this jerk to fall asleep in detention. Wasn't that normally not allowed? We were supposed to work on homework or find other ways to busy ourselves; it wasn't much of a punishment if we took a nap.

Just as I was wondering whether or not the teacher would do something, he walked up to the sleeping failure and shook him lightly to wake him up. "Beilschmidt, you can sleep at home. Not at school."

"Hm?" Gil muttered, eyes blinking open and yawning. "Is detention over already?"

_No. We still have -_

But even as my mind answered in the negative, the teacher responded otherwise. "Yes. Now get out of my classroom."

Gilbert grinned, but I narrowed my eyes. "Hey, wait."

The teacher – one I didn't have normally, by the way – turned to me. "Yes, Miss Hedervary?"

I twitched. He couldn't say my name right. Then again, not many people here could. Americans in general didn't know how to pronounce foreign names, though I should give them points for trying. Should.

"We still have a few minutes left," I said, pointing toward the clock on the wall. "Unless you're letting Gilbert out early and not me, which wouldn't exactly be fair."

To my astonishment, the teacher shrugged. "I don't care what time it is. I've wasted enough of my practice time watching you two love birds. I have a team to get back to and you two would be better off walking home together to solve your relationship problems."

Hearing such things from a teacher set me off guard. Then I saw Gilbert grinning like a fool and I felt my blood boil instead. This misunderstanding would have to stop. I couldn't take it if the entire school, or beyond, started to believe in this stupid rumor.

"We're not -" but I was interrupted.

By Gilbert. "Aw, don't try to be all goody-goody, Lizzy. Take what you can get when you get it. Besides, your parents will be wondering where we are, won't they?"

_Damn it. He has a point. And I can't start a fight with a teacher here. Fine. I'll beat him up later if he deigns it necessary to keep teasing me about this rumor. I can't believe this had to happen!_

Grumbling a bit under my breath, I handed the teacher my detention slip, watched him sign it, and then filed it away in my notebook. There would be no reason to show this to my parents. I could forge their signature and bring it to the office tomorrow without anyone knowing. Except Gilbert. Who would probably spill everything the moment he walked through the door. Damn it. So much for starting with a clean record. Everything was already ruined and it was only the first week of school. My parents were going to be upset with me for lashing out like a little kid. I was supposed to be the mature one, supposed to be the better person now.

Heh. Like that was even possible when I had to deal with _him_.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything else until we made it to the classroom exit, but there was a new jump in his step and I had the urge to trip him up because of it. How dare he be happy and peppy while I had to suffer and wallow in my misery of everything that had been ruined. No friends. Nobody wanted to get too close to me since Gilbert seemed so interested in hanging around all the time. No chance of a real boyfriend. The rumors about me and Gil, once again, were going to ruin any luck I had in that area.

Ugh. I just wanted to shove him over the side of a bridge and be done with it.

Of course, that was too violent. And as much as I thought it, I doubt I'd ever actually do something so destructive. There was a difference, after all, between causing harm and actually killing. As much as I could imagine and wish for a world without this dumb albino following me around, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. Gilbert did what Gilbert wanted and not even the adults of the town could hold him back.

Together, we walked out of the classroom. Together, we walked down the hallway. I held my anger and annoyance in. I wanted to shove or punch the bounce-in-his-step albino, but I held it in. I had to do that much. At least wait until we were out on the country road again where no one could see. Except this way everyone could see. Walking to school together. Showing up together. Going to detention together. Walking home together. I did _not_ want to be close to this guy for one more second, but I had no choice at this point and it was driving me up the wall.

The sound of a piano entered the otherwise silent hallways and I stumbled a bit in my step. "What's that?"

Gilbert frowned beside me. "Just a piano. We do have one here, you know. The choir has to have one, after all."

"We have a choir?" I turned back to Gilbert, but at his scoff I turned away again. Where was the piano sound coming from? Where was the choir room? "But...it's after hours. Why would someone be playing it?"

A glance to the albino. I watched as he shrugged and started walking down the hallway again. We were almost to the exit, except the sound was coming from the other hall and I couldn't make my feet move forward anymore.

"Hell if I know," Gil muttered. "But Francis did say the new guy liked to play."

I blinked. "New guy?"

"Yeah," Gilbert said. "But who cares?"

_New guy. New chance. I still have a chance. He plays piano. I mean, it sounds empty, like it's just one hand, but at least it was better than hanging out with the worst bad boy in town. _

"I do," I said, turning to start my walk down this unexplored hall. "Go on ahead. I'll be home soon."

I caught the red eyes rolling. "Whatever. It's not like I wanted to walk home with you anyway."

Even as he turned and rushed out of the school, I had to pause for a moment. What on earth kind of response was that? Usually someone said that when they _did_ want whatever they said they didn't want. Because some people couldn't be straight up honest with themselves or others. But why would Gilbert want to walk home with me so much? Did he really enjoying tormenting me every hour of every day he could? What the hell, that was like some little kid trying to get attention from a girl. A grade-school version of flirting.

What an idiot.

I rolled my eyes, shrugged it off, and decided to explore the empty school hallway. Eventually I managed to find the source of the piano music. A small back room, not the choir room I had assumed because of Gilbert's comment. Looking through the one window on the door I saw the back of a well dressed boy about our age – heck, he was wearing the uniform but somehow he made it look more regal and rich than it should be possible. One arm was in a cast, which explained why the sound was so empty, but still he sat at the baby grand piano in the small back room in the corner of the school playing what sounded like the right hand melody of a Chopin piece.

Of course it was impossible to tell for sure because it was only one half of the music, but I sensed more feeling in the little their was than in any CD I had ever listened to or live performer (except the grand concert halls of my past) I had witnessed. There was something different about the way he played, beyond the fact that he was only playing with one hand, and the sense of longing I could feel emanating from the room made me suck in a breath and interrupt the music, if only to come to the rescue of someone who appeared so lost.

As expected, opening the door stopped the music almost immediately. The boy turned around and faced me and my heart stopped the moment those heavily dark blue eyes found mine. Not only was he a good pianist – or so I assumed if he could make music like that with only one hand – but he had the handsome visage of some wealthier family, like he was being pruned to be famous somewhere down the road. His hair was well tamed except for a single wavy strand that seemed to be insisting to do whatever it wanted. His clothes, like I said earlier, well pressed and accented with small precious stones in all the right places so as not to appear like a gaudy woman. But _damn_ there was an allure to him I had not expected in the least and it threw me for a loop the moment the lightning struck.

"Did you need something?" The handsome guy asked and even if he did not smile I felt myself pulled toward him even more.

What was it my mother had said once? Hormones? Attraction? Sure, love at first sight was silly and only found in romance novels, but this was entirely something else. And I knew exactly what that something else was, though I wasn't too sure if I was willing to act on it at all. I only had to wonder what he looked like when smiling.

Because he looked so sad and distant.

"I, uhm," I cursed my stutter but plowed forward. "I heard the music."

His lips pressed together and he hummed. "Yes, I was practicing."

"I figured," I mumbled, still standing there awkwardly with the door open. My brain wasn't working as intended at the moment. "Chopin, right?"

He shook his head. "Liszt."

"Ah," I licked my lips, feeling my face heat. "Sorry. I should know that one. I'm half Hungarian and Dad used to play a lot of his stuff. Uh, I mean the CD or tape or record, though, not that he could actually play Liszt. His stuff is pretty hard."

Even though I rambled, the guy nodded along. He turned around and seemed to glare at the piano keys, but he was listening. "Made even harder with one hand, but Mother would want me to practice something."

Pushing my nerves to the side, I raised an eyebrow. Closed the door. Walked over to stand behind him. Well, beside him but still behind him. You know, that awkward place right beside the piano bench when you were just within the piano player's peripheral vision but – well, whatever.

"I'm sure she wouldn't expect you to practice with only one hand."

The boy shook his head. "No, she would expect it. I have to do something. Besides, I want to feel the music again, and this is a better piano than the one at the house I am currently residing in."

_Wow. That language. He sounds prime and proper. Maybe he really does come from some rich family. Why would he be way out here then?_

"Sadly," he went on, putting his one hand up on the keys, "I cannot get the full effect because of my arm."

"Yeah," I nodded dumbly. "It sounds pretty empty with only one hand."

He hummed again. "I wish I could find a song to play that would not cause such emptiness."

I frowned. This was really bugging him, wasn't it? He looked so downtrodden, like a cute little puppy kicked into the mud and now lost and far from its owner. Was he that connected to music? I mean, I loved music and all, but wasn't that a bit much? Then again, everyone had the one hobby or pastime in life that excited them, that felt more real than social interaction. I had yet to find my one hobby beyond writing letters to Lili in Lichtenstein or sewing at her direction or even watching and critiquing awful "chick-flick" romance movies. But I didn't have a super connection to anything – or anyone for that matter.

But he did. Even if I had just met him, I could tell. And he was upset because he couldn't make that close connection to his music. With his arm broken, he only made it halfway and the calming sensations of pouring your heart into something clearly weren't working. I didn't normally do anything to help others with their personal problems, but this was something I could understand at a basic level, something I _wanted_ to help with.

And a solution was easy enough. If it worked. If it didn't, I would just look like a foppish fool to him – or whatever his type called an uneducated idiot – but at least I would have tried. Maybe I could make him smile.

So without another moment of hesitation, I sat down on the piano bench next to him, feeling his leg through the fabrics of our clothes. I felt more than saw his gaze. Forcing down the nerves, I grinned and set my own hands to the piano keys. There was one song I knew that could help. One duet I could put on. Most every pianist I knew at least knew the basics beyond "Heart and Soul," so this _should_ be helpful, right?

"I know what you can play," I said as I started up the catchy, repetitive baseline. "You seem well educated in the classical style, but how good is your improv?"

I stole a glance to him. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his free hand and seemed to be debating. A twitch in his eyes showed that he recognized the tune, at the very least, and with a long sigh he gave in to the call of the music. I knew it would have to work on some level. No musician I had ever met would turn down the chance to jump into a duet, unless they were putting on airs and trying to appear more refined. But this was just us, two strangers. And he needed the music. So what else was there for him to do but start the improvised melody line?

Our version of "Heart and Soul" was a little lopsided. I wasn't professionally trained or anything, and he definitely had a hard time loosening up to the more jazzy feel, having no doubt been trained on the non-improvising type. But whatever mess we created was fun. At least to me, and I did manage to coax a smile from the otherwise unhappy handsome piano player. After several rounds of different melodies in which we crashed because we both took it too far and started to laugh because not only did we change keys but we started adding way too many flurries of extra notes – okay, maybe that was all me – but we did fall apart, laughter filling the small room. Mostly my laughter, but all the same, I was glad to have been some help.

"That was," he said into the brightened room. "More than I expected."

I snorted. "You could at least say fun." He shrugged but offered no other response, so I held out my hand. "I'm Elizaveta."

_Don't call me Lizzy. Only Gilbert has managed to pull that off, and I won't stand it from anyone else. Even the new heart throb piano player._

"Roderich," he said in answer, shaking my hand with his free one. "That was rather unexpected but nonetheless I have to admit it was very uplifting."

I smiled. "You're welcome."

Finally, I might have a friend. Someone besides the annoying asshole albino. Who would have thought I'd be able to bond over music? I hadn't touched piano in years and still it helped me in a somewhat dire situation. Being a bright light for a stranger. Lili had always said I could do it best if I stopped getting so angry at the small things all the time. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could be friends with someone else, even if they were a guy.

One long look at Roderich and I hummed to myself.

Maybe more than friends, if I wanted to be really hopeful.

~!~

_A/N: Told you I was starting to like AusHun more. I guess what I really enjoy is the relationship between all three of them. That's what the whole high school drama is focused on, after all. Sure, there's a musical aspect. There's the drug-dealer aspect that Gil has to deal with. There's the new kid at school syndrome and the terribly lucky or unlucky aspect of social standing in school. But more than anything I hope to show this interesting dynamic between a girl and two guys. In younger years, it's cool and normal to have guy friends, but once you hit high school the romantic aspect starts to do things to your friends and, well, maybe I'll throw in some of my own experiences if they fit. We'll see. _

_I love feedback of any kind, and of course I appreciate all reviews/alerts/favorites; I love hearing what you think! _

_~Reda_


	8. Chapter 8: Gilbert

**Author Notes: **So I was gone for a weekend and I got even further behind in my writing because of it. As much as I enjoyed the band trip and my last concert with my college band, I have been so far behind in writing. I need to catch up. Heck, I brought my laptop and a notebook to try to write something while I was down there and even then I couldn't get anything to come to me. Stuck in that god awful middle and not too certain on where I'm going next. It's terrifying, but also an exciting rush once I can manage to let go.

_Let it go~ Let it go~_

Okay, no, that song is so overdone. Anywho. This chapter with Gilbert. It's...going to be interesting.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 8: Gilbert

Sure, I rushed out of the school at first. At her insistent interest in some new piano player, I had the sudden urge to leave and never look back. There was a weird ache in my chest and it was bugging the hell of me and all I wanted to do at this point was make it go away. So I ran. I pushed my way out beyond the school perimeter, and then I stopped.

I could still hear the music.

Memories started to rush back to me at the sound. Thoughts of my early childhood, running through the streets of Berlin after a concert. Getting the chance to meet musicians because of my mother, a piano player herself, and one who had known some of the violinists and a flute player in the Berlin orchestra. The major one. Not that I would remember their name. Not now. But there had been a time when I'd gotten the chance to meet "famous" people. Famous in the musician world, at least. People who had gone to school with my mother. I think there had even been a time when she'd been a guest player for a side concert or something. She was great – fucking amazing if you asked me – but she wasn't world renown or anything. After all, that kind of life was a tough competition everywhere you went, and she had a family to take care of.

I could still remember those nights chasing Lizzy around – or being chased. As both of our families visited the concert halls and started to get to know one another. Her father worked in the industry, I think. I had forgotten, but he was a woodworker. A violin craftsman among other things.

God, those were good days.

I had to shake my head and blink back tears as I worked to compose myself and force the memories away. Damn music. I usually steered clear of it nowadays because of the memories it would bring. I couldn't stand to be reminded of my mother. Ever since the accident, Dad hadn't been the same, Ludwig had grown up without a female parental figure, and I, well, I handled it poorly, too, I suppose.

_Damn it._

The day was going so well, too.

The music continued and then laughter exploded into the air. Lizzy's laughter. I glanced over my shoulder, back toward the school, and frowned in the direction of the choir room. A window was open over there. That must be why I could hear their music, their laughter. Something in my chest ached again at the thought, but I wasn't sure what was causing it. Or how to fix it.

I did know one thing, though. Lizzy still liked music. Well, fine then, if I had to get her attention with music then damn it all, I would pick up the flute again. Geh. Only problem with that was the lack of an instrument. Mother had pushed a flute into my hands at a young age. I never understood why flute except for the fact that she said I apparently asked lots of questions about the instrument when I was really little. Hell, I didn't remember those conversations, just that she always wanted me to play the somewhat girly instrument.

I didn't have one anymore, though. After the accident a lot of things had changed. More than I cared to count or remember. So how was I supposed to get my hands on a flute? I knew Fritz had one, but when I had asked to play it once he had seemed so damn worried about a wrong movement breaking his precious instrument that I didn't have the heart to ask to borrow his flute. Yeah, I wouldn't ask Fritz. If I needed help relearning the basics or if I needed music, I would go to him, but I still needed an instrument.

Well, nothing to do now except head "home" and wait until an idea crossed me.

~!~

As I walked home, there was another thought that hit my mind. I still had to sell those drugs. I had until Christmas and hadn't sold a single one yet. Fuck if I knew how to go about doing it, too. Dad was doing it in the city, I think, though he might have had a few customers in the town, but I wouldn't know who because Dad never even shared his secret with us no matter how obvious it was.

_Damn it, old man, you just had to make things difficult for me all over again, didn't you?_

Backpack slung over one arm, hands in my pockets, I grumbled to myself as I walked down the road alone. If I hadn't gotten detention, I no doubt would have caught up to my brother, but Lizzy kind of made that impossible. I was pretty sure Ludwig could find the house by himself, though. He was a smart kid. Much smarter than I had been at that age. I was nothing but a troublemaker by then, and he actually seemed to care about his grades most of the time which meant the teachers liked him at least. I had no idea how the rest of the student body thought of him, but I was sure it didn't matter if the adults were on his side.

Come to think of it, the nurse hadn't really seemed to care when I was brought in for my pathetic injuries. A black eye was normal for a fist fight. I just hadn't expected to get one from a fight with a girl, from a fight with Lizzy even. Though I wasn't sure if you could consider it a real fight. More like I just sat back and let her hit me. I don't think I could ever bring myself to hit a girl, especially not her, not anymore at least. Heck, I don't think I ever hit her back then either. Girls were just off limits.

Of course Lizzy didn't _hit_ like a girl, but that was beside the point. Antonio had made fun of me for getting beat up by her, but Francis only sighed and muttered in his fake French about the cat having claws. He really did like that phrase for some reason. I could almost imagine his reaction if Lizzy were to dress up like a cat for Halloween.

A second thought on the image and I grinned to myself. Lizzy as a cat would be kind hot, actually. I wondered if I'd be able to convince her to do that. Halloween was so far away, but if I could remember to drop a hint or two she might actually do it. Then again, if it was too obvious she wouldn't. She seemed to hate me. For some reason. I guess everyone hated me, though, so it shouldn't be such a surprise, even if I had grown to like the fact that someone else in this shitty town would have the decency to notice me.

Come on, she's the girl from my past. I was _supposed_ to have a crush on her.

Wait. What?

I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. Okay, now things were getting weird. Have a crush on Lizzy? In the first week? Yeah, right. She was just sexy as hell and still full of the fire I remembered from our younger days. She was like that hot chick friend I wanted to have around, and possibly fuck one day if she would ever allow it, nothing else.

Except, hah, I was thinking about learning flute again just to impress her. Why the hell was I worried about impressing her? This wasn't the time to be worrying about girls. Especially not a "cat with claws" like Lizzy. She would tear me to ribbons if I even so much as touched her, even if the whole student body now believed we were going out.

Shit. I kind of made that rumor worse, too. I was fucking up in all kinds of ways today. What the hell was wrong with me? Hell, watching a kid on a bicycle ride by reminded me of something else, too. I left my bike at school. Halfway to Lizzy's house and I realized _now_ that I had left my bike at school.

Well, shit.

~!~

It took a lot longer to walk home than to ride a bike, even if Lizzy's house was closer to the town than mine technically. It still took longer. When I made it up to the front door, the sun was on its way down and I was only now beginning to wonder if I should have stayed to walk her home. Even if it was a small country town, that didn't mean it was completely free of thugs walking the street. In fact, if Dad was able to sell drugs, and heck, I think Toni was still in a gang...

Hand on the doorknob, I froze. I should have stayed. I should have waited. If I went back now, it would be way too late, but what else was I going to do? What would her father think if I came home looking beat up and without Lizzy?

_Damn it, Gil, you should have thought this through more._

With a grimace, I opened the door, and stepped inside the quiet household. It was dinner time, wasn't it? Close to it at least. As I closed the door there was the muffled sound of feet running down a carpeted staircase, and my frown deepened. There wasn't going to be any chance of sneaking upstairs, then.

Thankfully, the only person to show himself in the entryway was my little brother. Ludwig ran up, then paused, as if he was debating whether he wanted to tackle me in a brotherly hug or not. I guess he was getting too old for that kind of thing, and when he didn't move I assumed he came to the same conclusion. God, they grew up fast, didn't they? Anyway, those blue eyes of his looked me up and down, then glanced behind me. I knew what was coming before the question ever left his lips.

"Where's Elizaveta?"

Though it was funny to hear my brother call her by her full name. "Lizzy," I said, "Is back at school or on her way. We split up."

A golden eyebrow lifted. "You left her to walk home by herself?"

"Damn right," I said back. Even my brother was going to accuse me of leaving the girl alone; shit, I really should have thought things through better before walking off; I don't know what was wrong with me. "She wanted to meet the piano guy."

"Piano guy?" Ludwig asked, then his little face smirked. "You jealous of someone?"

"Keh, no," I said back, shifting my bag and walking by him. "Mind your own business."

I tried to aim for the staircase. If I could get to the second floor, I could avoid the parents. I wanted nothing more than to avoid her parents right now. No doubt they would start questioning me about multiple things at this point. My bruises. My black eye. The fact that I looked beat up and was without Lizzy. Damn, I really did fuck this one up. People were supposed to think of me as a worthless asshole. I wasn't actually supposed to _be_ that kind of guy.

Of course, I didn't make it to the stairs. I left my brother behind me, and he knew me well enough to accept the quick, brushed off response. He wouldn't be pressing me for more information. At least not now. I'd probably tell him more later anyway if I wanted someone to complain to or rant to or well, just talk to. I could always go visit my own friends and not spill everything to my brother, but there was something special about that sibling relationship that I don't think would ever compare to the relationship among my trio of friends.

The sound of Lizzy's parents talking in the other room froze me in my steps. I could barely breathe, though I did catch the whiff of a cigarette. And the scent of wood, oddly enough. The voices were coming from the little study room off to the side, not the kitchen or the living room, which had me wondering what – or when – they were planning for dinner. Would they wait until Lizzy came home? Or -

"She's not back yet," the mother said. "And neither is that albino boy you picked up."

"I'm sure they're fine," the father replied, though he did sound a little distracted. "Any number of things could happen at school."

"Yeah," the mother retorted. "Any number of unprepared things."

"No need to think the worst. This is a nice, pleasant small town after all."

"It's not the town I'm worried about."

"We've been over this, hun," the father said. "Gilbert's reputation in town is unfounded. He's had a rough home life -"

"The younger one acts more mature."

"True, but he's had Gilbert there to take care of him. I don't think the boy would do anything harmful to Liz. In fact, I'd dare say he'd protect her if anyone else tried something."

"That doesn't mean I trust him or agree with your decision to take them both in like this."

_Great,_ I thought, as I hovered outside, unable to make my feet leave their iced positions. _I really am tearing the family apart. You'll love me now, Lizzy. I'm breaking your home for you. Just perfect, right?_

Seeing as I was frozen to my place, when the door to the extra study room opened and Lizzy's mother walked out, I could only look over at her and then glance away. Why I glanced away when I was determined to always meet an adult's eyes, I don't know. I should have met her glare for glare, but this was _Lizzy's_ mom and I didn't want to leave a bad impression. Except I already had left a bad impression and simply looking away all ashamed like would only serve to make things worse. Damn it, I kept fucking up.

"Oh, you're back," Lizzy's mom said with a sneer. "Good to know. Where's Liz?"

I shrugged. Funny to me that they would nickname her Liz instead of Lizzy. I always preferred the latter nickname, but I guess parents could do whatever they wanted. She probably told them not to call her anything besides her full name, too. Not that anyone would ever actually listen. You called people whatever you wanted, after all. And nicknames were fun, no matter what anyone said.

Before I could prepare a proper response, the dad came waltzing into the room, wood shavings on his shirt and dust in his hair. What the hell had _he_ been doing all day? "Welcome home, Gilbert." The tone was nice enough at first, but then he frowned and I winced at the look sent to my face. "What happened?"

Ah right. My black eye. Kind of makes it obvious. So, now what? Tell them I was beat up by a girl? Beat up by Lizzy no less? They probably wouldn't like hearing that their precious little girl beats up guys all day. If by some stroke of luck the comment would put her in trouble with her parents, then...well that was even worse. Best not to say anything. I wouldn't want her getting in trouble for hitting me. After all, the little punches were kind of a nostalgic in a strange way.

"Got in a fight," I mumbled. "Not a big deal."

The dad nodded. "You should try not to get into fights, Gilbert."

I rolled my eyes. What a stupid ass thing to say. To me at least. No one fucking tries to get in fights. Shit just happened. It wasn't like I walked around the town asking people to punch me in the face. My attitude tended to bring out the worst in people, but that didn't mean I was literally walking around asking for it. Lizzy would probably say differently, but she had figured out quickly why I craved attention. And her response was to beat me up.

Huh. A part of me wondered if she did it as a way to tell me how stupid harming myself – nah. She was furious when she laid into me. Not much thought behind it. Which, by the way, that was another reason not to get on her bad side. At least not on her bad side when it came to her parents. Yeah, all in all it was the smarter thing to do, keeping the fight and the injuries all to myself. No involvement with her. Not at all anything to do with Lizzy. Nope.

"So, Gilbert," Lizzy's father said as he set a hand on my shoulder; I glared at the hand, but otherwise let him touch me; damn man had earned a piece of respect from me for not only speaking to me like an equal but standing up for me, even if it meant arguing with his wife. "Do you know where Elizaveta is? I must admit I'm worried seeing you here with a black eye and not seeing a sign of my daughter."

Great. Now I felt even worse. Damn man had that damn affect on me and it was pissing me off. I had to respect him. I didn't have to like it when he made my chest ache with worry. Why was I so damn worried about Lizzy anyway? She could take care of herself, couldn't she? Hell, I couldn't think straight because I was thinking of her all the time.

"I bet the other guy walked her home," I growled. "She was interested in his piano playing."

From behind me, Ludwig's voice piped into the conversation. "So you really were jealous."

"Shut up!" I snapped, turning around, though there was an element of playfulness to it, seeing as it was my brother teasing me. "I told you to mind your own business."

The hand left my shoulder at my movement. Though there was the sound of boots hitting the floor as the mother walked away. "I'll go up to the school and see if she's still there. I wouldn't trust all musicians, but I certainly feel better knowing she was with one of their kind instead of being left to _his_ eye."

I snorted, even though the mother was long gone and out the door. "Lizzy doesn't need anyone to watch out for her. She can take care of herself just fine."

Lizzy's father just laughed. "My thoughts exactly, Gilbert."

"Besides," Ludwig piped up again, his soft finger tapping my side. "You're a musician, too, aren't you, brother?"

"Keh," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I doubt I could still play."

Of course, this conversation was going right out of my control. Thanks a lot to Ludwig. Sometimes, that little brat was worse than my friends. Always pushing things out of my control. Most of the time, they were for my benefit, but still, I didn't like getting tugged around a conversation so easily. It was like I had no concept of the teasing and prodding they were so insistent on. What else was I supposed to do but vehemently deny anything they brought up? My stubbornness had to be used somehow.

Granted, the talk of music only managed to bring Lizzy's dad closer. "You play an instrument, Gilbert?"

I turned to him. I was about to snap something about how it was pointless to even talk about whether I could play or not. I had played at one time. It did not mean I could still pull it off. I wanted, too, though. I wanted to badly, especially after learning that Lizzy still liked music. She liked music enough to leave me alone and chase after a new guy. I needed to grab her attention again.

For...some...reason.

"Yeah," I blurted out instead, my face heating a little because of the curious direction of my thoughts. "I mean, I used to. I don't have a flute anymore so there's no telling what I can-"

"A flute, huh," the man hummed. "I wonder if I could make one."

I raised an eyebrow at the idea. Flutes were made out of silver. Not wood. Not anymore. I mean, yeah, if you knew your history flutes were made out of wood at first. Long ass time ago. And I guess you could still make a flute with wood but it would completely change the timbre and the feel and...well...

I turned to Lizzy's father. I couldn't voice the thought in my head, but my eyes may have said it all because he grinned, nodded, and then patted me on the back. It felt so strange and yet...

Almost like I was part of some family.

Almost.

~!~

_A/N: Straight up honestly? Not too sure how well that came out but I've been wanting a mention and scene of Gil with the flute so there it is. More music talk! Yeah! I love centering it around stuff I understand so why the hell not? Besides, everyone knows Austria plays piano and Prussia plays flute so why the fuck not? It's enjoyable, to say the least. And yeah, this is going to be a lot longer than 50,000 words when it's finished, but even if I am behind I will still hit those 50k words by the end of November. Sorry if things feel rushed. I'm trying not to go too fast ;)_

_~I appreciate all feedback; thanks for reading~_

_~Reda_


	9. Chapter 9: Roderich

**Author Notes: **This relationship between Lizzy and Roddy is interesting. Really, really interesting. I can't get over it. I love it too much. I am rooting for Gilbert all the way, but I really feel for Roderich now and it's tearing me apart because I love both of them. Heck, I love all three of them. I want them all to be happy. Why can't they just all be with each other and make it one great happy threesome? I mean, seriously, let's make it like El Dorado. Except not. Because in this AU Liz and Gil aren't super best friends. They were childhood friends, but they aren't the super best friends of the...yeah. I'm rambling. Sorry. Onward?

Be warned. There is a music history lesson in this chapter. All over the place, actually. Yeah. This really did turn into a music centered high school drama. What the fuck. I don't even.

Also. Homecoming week. Because I told you it would time skip at some point. So there. It's time skipped.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 9: Roderich

In the first few weeks of the new school, there were many things that happened of which I was not expecting. The most important of which was meeting Elizaveta Hedervary. Her Hungarian heritage was interesting to say the least, especially considering I have the family history of Austrian influence, but her musical knowledge was even more intriguing. She did not have the skill I would anticipate for one so understanding of the musician life. She could not always name a tune or composer like an expert, but she at least showed an appreciation for the art.

Once my arm was healed and the cast removed, there was more than just one girl showing appreciation for the art, too. I started as a simple new guy with few acquaintances, ranging from a strange trio of friends who seemed to do nothing but cause trouble...and Elizaveta. I had taken to calling her Eliza in my mind, but I kept my appearance of politeness up whenever she was around, staying true to first name basis without nicknames. The albino troublemaker, Gilbert, called her Lizzy but she seemed to attest the name so I refrained from such antics. Until such time as we grew a stronger bond, which I hoped would be soon.

In the meantime, I was building a crowd of followers. People I did not know and did not particularly consider my friends cornered me between classes requesting songs that I did not know and did not care to know, either. But there were girls and a few guys who had shown interest in my talent, swooning around the doors of the small practice room whenever I walked in to practice a few passages. All the attention was mind boggling, seeing as I had never earned such praise in the competitive field. There was always someone better me when I was finished performing on stage. But here, it was an entirely different story. The student body – and the teachers, too – acted like I was Beethoven or Mozart reborn, capable of not only playing on demand but adding my own flairs to such diverse music ideals. They knew nothing, and yet I found myself enjoying the praise.

Mother had never praised me. My talent had gone from expected and not-quite-enough to suddenly being the best in the universe. The small town crowd did not know better, but I still appreciated every word, every gesture. Apparently, I was building popularity on top of all the attention. Popularity for my talent. The piano player prodigy.

Yes, I enjoyed this particular turn of events. Who wouldn't? Even if the greatest compliments were from fellow musicians, the ravishing praise from a large crowd was more temporarily rewarding than the loudest applause of an entire audience of musical critics. At least, this was true for the moment.

My classes were simple for the most part. If I was ever behind, someone was there to help explain it in the lunch hour. I never tired of tutors or girls willing to do me a quick favor. I needed a glass of water? No problem, someone would grab it for me. My stomach growled with need for a snack? Not an issue, someone would hand me a breakfast bar or a piece of sugary goodness bought with their own money. I had no need to worry about social standing, though I could care little for such a thing in a small town. It was almost too easy to rise to the top. Maybe Mother would have been impressed, but more than likely she would look down her nose and insist that peasants were easy to manipulate. Hand them decent music and they clamored for the next breathe of fresh air.

Still. I had to admit to enjoying it, and the climb to the top really had happened without any effort on my part. I just did what I liked to do, lived how I felt, and people started fighting for the right to follow me.

Except for Elizaveta.

I soon noticed that Eliza would not follow the crowd. She stood on the outside of all the happenings and watched from a far. A part of me was sad to be so separated from her caring atmosphere. Everyone else demanded attention or wanted to be noticed in the smallest, silliest of ways, but she stood back and kept to herself. She was almost cut off from me entirely.

I say almost because there was one time when I saw her. Once a day. After school in the same room where we met. The room with the one baby grand piano. It was not the most magnificent of instruments, but ti was much better than the upright at the house where I currently resided. Elizaveta said she liked the tone, but then again so did anyone whenever I played. The choir teacher hadn't known such sounds could come out of this piano, and I had to hold back from mentioning the fact that it was not even in the best condition. A real grand, and one that was purely in tune with itself, would have been much better. Eliza could at least agree with me when I ranted about the state of the pianos in this town.

She did not want to be stuck here, either.

"So, Roderich," Elizaveta stated into the silence after a song, sitting on the floor against the wall in the small room, twirling a pencil between her fingers. "Are you going to enter the talent show?"

I glanced up to the ceiling as if the answer to such a question lay in the tiles of the school. No such answer was forth coming and I shrugged instead. "I have not decided yet."  
>A talent show for Homecoming week. I did not know of many schools that meshed the two ideas together. Usually there were other festivities, weren't there? A night of burning something on the football field. Poster competitions. Prizes for some other contest. Pep rallies. None of which I was looking forward to, but the talent show. A talent show, and a promised performance by the winner during the dance. It would give me something to aim for if I wanted to go to the dance, and a quick glance to Elizaveta Hedervary with her dress riding up slightly above her knees because of her current seated position on the floor gave me all the reason I needed to want to go to the dance.<p>

I tried to imagine Eliza in a dress fit for her form. She would no doubt pull off the beauty of the younger ladies I had met at Mother's social outings. She could pull it off and perhaps even do a better job, if given the right material. I wanted to bring into the high life, but I doubt Mother would allow it for long. At most, I wanted to bring her to a dance. I had to wonder if she was already taken, if another guy had already stolen her invitation, but when I thought of how Eliza spent so much time after school hours with me I had to discern that she was indeed free. Unless those rumors about her and Gilbert actually had merit, though I never saw them together with Elizaveta looking happy, not that her happiness was an indication of holding a relationship, just that she was unhappy if she _was_ currently claimed by the rowdy albino. Well, even if Gilbert had a claim on her, which I doubted, I would ask her to dance anyway. Surely her interest would pull her away from the troublemaker of the town.

"What would you play?" Elizaveta's question broke me from my thoughts, bringing me down to the conversation of the present. "If you decided to try out, that is."

"Such is the problem," I muttered, seeing as choosing a song for any competition was always the worst part; I had plenty of options up my sleeves, but which would be the _best_ option? "My mother always decided song choice for my competitions."

Elizaveta hummed at the information. "I figured as much."

A smile twitched at my lips, but I held back. Eliza had the wrong idea about my mother already. So little information given to her, and she was determined to believe that my mother was controlling and overbearing. While I was willing to admit she was pushing me too hard at times, I did not think it was out of selfish desires. Not intentionally. There was love behind her want to have me succeed, which was why she had sent me out here for a break. Even if the thought had graced my mind – the thought that Mother and Father had simply wanted me out of the way now that I had failed them. That wasn't true. That was my own mind worrying too much. I had wanted a break, needed a break. This was for my own good.

"All right," I said into the accompanying silence. "What would you have me play?"

Her green eyes looked to me. She changed positions on the floor, sitting cross legged and apparently forgetting about her dress completely, as it showed way too much skin for my hormonal mind to comprehend. There were a few moments of catching my breath and having to move my eyes up to her face, a few awkward moments in which she went on rambling about something insignificant. Hopefully it was insignificant. I didn't want to ask her what she had been talking about while my brain lost a portion of blood to another area. I shifted my own position on the piano bench and then sent her a gentle smile as she almost subconsciously tugged the dress skirt down.

"Beethoven would be too typical," she was saying. "And Mozart is too bouncy for your personality. Well, the majority of Mozart is a little too pink for you. Brahms would be a bit heavy, I think, or at least your Brahms. It just doesn't feel right."

She was busy listing off all the songs I had played for her over these past few months. The Beethoven, the Mozart, the Brahms, all the songs Mother had forced me to learn for competitions. I knew why she brushed them off. Technically, they were good, they showed off important skills and could normally pull in an audience. Except for when I played them. I had yet to get a good grasp on the sense of their motives, their desires; I was in high school. I knew only of my own musical desires, and I connected with those few composers who were so alike to me.

"I love your Chopin," Elizaveta went on. "But again, I think it's too typical. Everyone plays Chopin just because he has some of the best emotional music out there. Debussy would be good, but then again my favorite is Claire de Lune and that's so overdone."

"Mmhmm," I hummed, loving the chance to hear another person my age speak of music with such knowledge. She wasn't the most well read or well educated when it came to music, but she _did_ know the flavor of the different musicians, even if she could not pick them out when hearing their songs being played. Though she did normally pick out a composer in the right genre or time period, which was something not everyone could do. "But what do _you_ want?"

The answer was immediate. "Liszt."

"Hm?" I hummed again, pushing my glasses up my nose into a better position, smelling the scent of soap and hand sanitizer – one could never be too careful when playing on foreign keys. "Why Liszt? Besides the fact that he is Hungarian and that is your heritage."

"Well," she said as she bit her bottom lip. "I mean, I just like Liszt a lot for one, but I love the way you play him. And, yeah, I guess a part of my want to hear Liszt comes from my Hungarian heritage, but it's more than that. Like, isn't he supposed to be a rock star? Or, I should say, he was a rock star in his day?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why does it matter if he was a rock star? I'm assuming, by the way, that you meant his status of popularity was similar to that of rock stars, since those did not particularly exist in that time period."

"Yeah," she said, a blush forming on her face as she glanced away. "I was just reading it in that music history book you let me borrow. There's a lot of interesting tidbits in there, you know. But anyway that would be the best way to win the competition. Not only does it sound challenging-"

"Because it is."

She took a breath and corrected herself. "Not only is it challenging, it _sounds_ challenging, _looks_ challenging, and it's always rock stars that win talent shows like this anyway."

"You are forgetting one thing," I supplied, leaning over a little to meet her eyes better. Such a beautiful shade of green; I had to wonder if they would change shade depending on mood or energy; I heard some eye colors did that; Gilbert's albino red were the only obvious examples because the red was such a bright color to begin with; it would be nice to see subtle changes in hers as well. "I am not a rock star. I am a pianist."

To my surprise, Elizaveta simply rolled her eyes. "Of course. That's the idea. We _make_ you into a rock star. You don't have to be one literally. You just need to pull the same status by playing Liszt the way Liszt would play it, you know? I think you can do that, and I think you can take the student body by storm if you do."

At the idea, I sat back on the piano bench and brought my thoughts inward. Play Liszt the way Liszt would? All the craze with the high stage presence. Girls swooning over him with every note. Playful and flirty and a little bit of tease. Is that what I wanted to do? No, this was only to be partially for me. I hadn't really felt the urge to join a small town competition, but Elizaveta was serious about it. If I wanted to take part in this talent show, if I wanted to win, then I wouldn't be doing it for me. I'd be doing it for someone else.

I could do it for her.

"Sounds like an interesting possibility," I said.

She smiled, taking my answer as proof that I would sign up and attempt to "take the audience by storm" as she had so stated. "Great! I think you'll be amazing. I can't wait to see your Liszt impression. Oh, we should look into outfits of that time period. We could make real authentic and everything..."

Yeah, I could most assuredly do it for her.

~!~

Decision made, we set out together to make the arrangements necessary. I purchased a few Liszt pieces that I felt would be best for the situation so I could practice them all and make a decision after performing each of them for Elizaveta. She was going to be my acting manage for the situation, stepping out of her way to locate the clothing for the necessary attire. I had not initially decided to dress up for the occasion, seeing as I had not wanted to partake in this event in the first place, but Eliza was quite insistent and I wanted to make her happy and set a good impression so I allowed the ideas to flow. Besides, it would be nice to perform on stage again. I almost had sense of withdrawal being a few months without the stage presence to lean on.

We soon learned, however, that we were not the only ones with the intent of playing a musical instrument for the talent show. Gilbert Beilschmidt, the rowdy albino of all people, was apparently signed up as well. Though we did not find this information out from reading any sign up list, but by hearing the sound of an instrument playing in the halls of school after classes had let out. After detention hours, too, because the troublemaker was no doubt in detention for the majority of his school career.

Elizaveta was the first to comment on the flute sounds as we walked through the hall. "What is that?"

"A flute," I supplied, a breath away from taking her hand before holding myself back from anything inappropriate. She eyed me like I was a smart ass and I shrugged because I did not know how else to respond to such a question.

"Yes," she sighed. "But who?"

I shrugged again. "Does it matter?"

I wanted to practice some more, not worry about competition, but apparently my friend and manager was a little more insistent on discovering this new piece of information. "Yes it matters. It always matters in a competition. They don't sound too bad and it could be a problem."

I doubted this was the case, but Elizaveta was insistent. I had learned quickly after being her friend that when she was determined to follow something out there was little chance of stopping her. She reminded me of my mother, and I liked that about her. A little stubborn, but very strong and determined once she made up her mind. Granted, this one time I would preferred to be allowed back into the practice room and not snooping around the halls searching for the competition like a couple of high school – Well, maybe the scene and experience of the whole situation was worth it in the long run.

In any case, we did find the cause of the flute sounds. Imagine our surprise when we discovered none other than the rowdy albino troublemaker sitting on a bench outside the principal's office, playing on what appeared to be a hand crafted wooden flute. Not the typical silver instruments or a plastic cheap version, but a handcrafted wood. It had its own tone, a different sort of ring, like a heavy sort of fog filling the air.

Of course, once Gilbert saw us turn the corner he stopped immediately and hid the wooden instrument behind his back, turning a glare to the both of us, though his gaze lingered longest on me and harshest, I might add. "What?"

"Gilbert?" Elizaveta said with a raised pitch to her voice. "You play flute?"

A slight redness appeared in the cheeks of the pale skinned albino, and I choked back my own question at the sight. Seeing Gilbert Beilschmist, this rough and tumble country troublemaking goon, flustered at being caught playing flute was a sight in and of itself. Of all the people I had expected to see playing such an instrument, this character had been far from my mind. And seeing him flustered at being caught! That was almost too much. Since when did this _child_ care for his reputation or grow embarrassed at anything he did?

"Yeah," Gilbert managed to choke out, eyes flicking around the area is searching for other people who might be hiding around the corners of the hallway. "I didn't think anyone else would still be here."

"That's another good point," Elizaveta continued, crossing her arms under her breasts and drawing both mine and Gilbert's eyes quite unintentionally I was sure. "Why would you be playing here of all places? Couldn't you at least find a practice room? And seriously, flute?"

The albino shrugged, pulling the flute out from behind his back as if having given up on hiding it from prying eyes. "Why should I go into a practice room? It's not like my instrument gets all that loud. Besides, I'm waiting for Fritz to show up."

"Fritz?" I raised an eyebrow. "The history professor?"  
>"Yeah," Gilbert snapped back at me, as if answering my questions was almost beneath his dignity. Well, of course, he seemed to have something against me ever since I met him. "He plays flute, too, so I was going to ask him for some pointers. I didn't want to go into the talent show completely on my own, especially since I haven't played in so long."<p>

"You're trying out for the talent show?" Elizaveta asked, her voice raising once more in pitch.

Too much higher and she'd start getting to that point of breaking glass. I decided to set a hand on her shoulder, if anything to offer a little bit of comfort and a reminder not to get so worked up against the albino, since he could set her off like they were a love-hate couple, which I still was uncertain about.

"Yeah, "Gilbert said, leaning back on the bench and pressing his back into the wall, crossing his arms and no doubt trying to look cool no matter how much the flute in his hand ruined the image. "Is that a problem?"

Elizaveta took a deep breath, turned a smile to me, and then a smirk to Gilbert. "No. Not a problem at all."

I noticed his red eyes flash at me. Ah, so there _was_ a problem, just not according to Elizaveta. She didn't see him as a threat. She didn't see him as being worth anything. Frankly, neither did I, but as one musician to another I knew I could not ignore him. Even those with terrible attitudes could hold immense talent. We should still be wary.

"If I may," I said, getting both Gilbert's and Eliza's attention. "What piece are you intending to play for the talent show, Gilbert?"  
>To my surprise, his glare went away and his eyes lit up. Brighter than I'd ever seen them before, that was for sure. Anytime I saw him, he was usually dark and moody. The mention of music, of the music <em>he<em> was playing seemed to bring him up a step, and it was interesting to see that even the worst of society could hold an appreciation for the classic arts.

"It's not very well known," he said. "But I love everything Frederich the Great composed. I mean, not many kings could actually play an instrument, let alone flute. Hell, not many could compose decent works."

I was not particularly well versed in flute literature. After all, my primary focus was on the piano and all the great works written for the majorly popular instrument. Flute – and any wind instrument for that matter – was in its own category and far from my knowledge. I did recognize the name he handed out, even if for a different reason.

"Isn't that the German king?"

"Prussian," Gilbert instantly corrected, red eyes hot and glaring once more. "There is a difference."

"There _was_," I lightly replied, clicking my tongue between my teeth.

Of course the comment only served to anger him more. Thankfully, he didn't lash out, but he did get to his feet and stomp over to stand right in front of me. Our eyes met, and I had to remind myself that it was not worth it to rile up the trashiest piece of the town. He would gain nothing from this stand off, and by standing my ground he would not succeed in throwing me off guard or upsetting me in anyway, either. I expected him to throw a fist, but all he did was grab my collar and pull our faces closer, forcing my eyes to be slightly below his of course. What a simple ruffian. Still concerned with dominance and control. I had all the control I would need just by not responding to his antics.

"You can't change history just because something doesn't exist anymore," Gilbert snarled. "Prussia was a great nation while it was still here, and especially during the time of Frederich the Great so don't give me those smart ass comments of yours. I'll play his music because that's what I want to do, and I'll beat you at your own game doing it."

~!~

_A/N: And things are getting heated now. What, music competition at a high school? What? Am I dreaming? Lol. Whatever, I guess. I need to think more description wise. I think I'm starting to lose the sense of setting. Anywho. I shall continue to charge forth. This is going to be so much fun. _

_~Glad to hear you guys are enjoying it so far; I hope you stay and like the ending I have in mind; haha still can't decide where exactly I'll end it but we'll see what happens when I hit the 50,000 words of November, cause it depends how far away the planned ending is by that point. Anywho. Homecoming week. Yeah._

_~Reda_


	10. Chapter 10: Elizaveta

**Author Notes: **This chapter is important. I can feel it before I even start to write it. This will perhaps be one of the most important chapters. I think things start to climax and fall after this. Eh. Maybe it's just a little bump. We'll see, though, won't we. Got some crazy stuff planned so enough of my rambling and onward!

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 10: Elizaveta

There was a lot to do in the time before Homecoming week. The talent show was placed on the Wednesday before the game. The football game of which this all revolved around was on a Friday of course. Our school wasn't particularly pumped up about the game though. Our team was awful compared to the big city ones, and no one cared to comment on it or even go to their games half the time. I felt a little sorry for the band kids who were forced to go because of their commitment to marching on the field, but then again that was an elective they chose. Funny how Gilbert could play flute and not participate in the band, but then again I doubted the band director would want to deal with his hooligan acts so there was probably no active recruitment going on in that area anyway.

But I wasn't worried about Gilbert here. I was worried and focused on Roderich. In the past two months, I had managed to make friends with him, which was both a good thing and a bad thing, I guess. There was no telling if the infamous friend zone went both ways. I knew girls who would refuse to date guys because they were friends – my best friend Lili was one of these – but I wasn't so sure if it worked the same way for guys or not. Roderich seemed to enjoy my company. He hadn't made any moves to hold my hand or touch me in any way, though a part of me wanted to trust that it was just his proper upbringing making him super careful about what he did. At the very least, I could hang out with him when all the other fans of his were forced to sit outside the practice room. Roderich's practice time was our time and as strange as that was, I honestly enjoyed sitting on the floor listening to his playing while I worked on homework.

Or in this case day-dreamed about sitting on the floor listening to his playing.

A note falling onto my desk broke me out of the day dream. Well, I was sure the tap on the shoulder helped break me out, too, but the note grabbed my attention more. It was folded crudely, although there was a little attempt of a special little hook this time. An attempt. Gilbert hadn't grown any better at his note folding since the first day of classes, but his subject matter at least had matured quite a bit. Perhaps some of it came with feeling like siblings or friends now. As much as I had fought the idea, it happened anyway. I guess there wasn't much you could do when you both learned intimate secrets about the other throughout the time spent in the same house.

Opening the note, I felt my face twitch, unable to decide if I should laugh or growl. _"Hey, Lizzy, this one time at band camp I shoved my flute up...well, no, I can't say that joke since I never went to band camp, but I was day dreaming about whether or not I could shove it up inside you. If you know what I mean."_

Oh dear god he was disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Like a perverted teenager.

I sighed at the thought. Of _course_ he was a perverted male teenager. Hormonal jerk of a _guy_. So, I kept my cool and scribbled back on the note. _"Can't you ever day dream about anything besides sex?"_

I tossed the note behind me, not even bothering to indicate who it should go to. By this point, the guy behind me knew exactly where it went. Gilbert was notorious for passing notes to me, and I couldn't ignore him anymore. Ignoring him led to more embarrassment later, so I had learned quickly to go ahead and fall for his distractions. Besides, just like before, the math lesson was easy. Not that I'd learned how to solve these problems before, not like this, but it was easy to pick up because the teacher was so slow and the other students were usually confused and slow to understand anyway. I had to do something with my time, so why not?

When I heard a snort behind me, I glanced over my shoulder to see the white haired red-eyed punk leaning over his desk to scribble out his answer. Unlike the first day, his clothes looked well taken care of and the right colors. My dad was taking care of Gilbert, and it was sort of weird to see the changes in him just because of the small things my dad was doing for him. Maybe his earlier home life really had messed him up and my dad was right about giving the rowdy albino a chance to change for the better. Maybe.

Before Gilbert could see me staring, I turned back around and waited for the note to fly over my shoulder. _"I'm a guy, Lizzy. What do you expect? Especially when I get to stare at you all morning. I really can't help it when you make yourself look even sexier every day."_

I rolled my eyes as I read. Okay, it was a little flattering. A little. And a little gross at the same time because this was Gilbert being a pervert. Not exactly what I wanted from a guy, even if the attention and compliments on my looks made my self esteem feel stroked.

_"You can't use the excuse that you're a guy. Roderich is a guy and he doesn't make comments like that. He's sensible and refined and gentlemanly. You're just a pervert day dreaming weird sex with me and your flute. If you're trying to pick me up, that's not the way to go about, you know."_

This time, I heard a groan when the note got back to him. It was quickly covered up and drowned out by the sound of pencil on paper, but it was there.

_"Who said anything about Roderich? That guy is too much of a pansy to ask you out even though you've been hanging around so obviously waiting for it."_

My face heated as I read and responded quickly. _"I have not! And he's just been patient and considerate. That's all."_

Our note passing suddenly became a flurry of movement. Quick responses. Fast and furious. Like we were having a heated argument even without saying anything out loud or raising our voices or getting the chance to move our bodies in response to our words or anything.

_"You are too. You hang around him all the time now, and he should have done something by now. But he hasn't. So he's a wuss."_

_ "Oh yeah? What does it matter? It's not like anyone else is asking me out anytime soon."_

_ "You sure about that?"_

_ "Please. If you wanted to ask me out you wouldn't sugar coat it with talks of sex, Gil."_

_ "Hey, at least I'm honest."_

_ "Honesty only goes so far."_

_ "And you wonder why I'm waiting before asking you out."_

I read the note, twice over, before the meaning hit. Gilbert wanted to ask me out. _Gilbert_ actually had the nerve to believe he could ask me out. What on earth gave him that idea? I toyed with the image in my brain and had to fight the urge to throw up right there. Kissing Gil would be horrendous, nothing like my day dreams of kissing Roderich. Like I would ever say yes to the jerk of an albino. I could barely stand to be friends with him, even if he was getting more bearable as the days passed.

_"You might as well wait forever," _I sent back, pretty sure that would end the subject for good.

The response was the quickest yet and only a single word.

_"Okay."_

~!~

Later that same day, after school hours, I sat in the same practice room as before listening to Roderich Edelstein practice his Liszt. He still hadn't gotten the movement or the piano-rock-star attitude down, but the music was coming along nicely at least. Then again, I couldn't bug him about the attitude in his playing because he had picked a softer song. Love Dream, I think was how it was supposed to be translated. I could only imagine the announcer of the talent show trying to pronounce the actual name. Liebestraum by Franz Liszt performed by Roderich Edelstein. Yeah. It would probably be best to look up the English translation.

Everything sounded wonderful as I worked on the finishing touches of Roderich's Liszt costume. Well, everything except the hollow tone of a wooden flute. The small practice room had a single window, but the window was broken so any attempt to completely close it and block out the sounds – or weather for that matter – of the outside was impossible. On a second thought, it was no wonder Roderich wasn't completely happy with the tones of the piano keys; the leaking weather probably had an adverse effect on the piano strings. The flute playing outside also had an adverse effect on his practicing, though, and it was starting to annoy me more than usual.

Tossing the costume to the floor, I got to my feet and stomped over to the window. Before I could even set my hands on the window to force it open – see, it opened fine; it just didn't close all the way like it was supposed to – the flute sound cut off mid run and I heard another voice on the other side.

"Gil, there's trouble."

"What?" Gil's voice barked, sounding almost German accented with its harshness. "What kind of trouble, Toni?"

His friend sounded worried, which was strange because if it was the same Spanish friend I remembered from class then I wasn't very accustomed to hearing Antonio Carriedo be anything but happy. The typically carefree attitude was gone. Which made my heart beat even more as I leaned in against the wall and listened in. Roderich continued to play, ignoring everything else in the world as musicians tended to do when in a serious practice mode, but I was officially curious and incredibly concerned.

"Big trouble, Gil," Toni muttered. "We have to go."

"Go where?" Gil muttered back, though I heard his voice move up, like he was rising from a seated position. The jerk had been practicing under this window on purpose then. "You know there isn't very many places we can run here."

"Yeah, but, it's better than the school, _amigo," _And there was the Spanish, followed by a string of words that sounded like some prayer, something Antonio was only known to do when excited or nervous. "Your employer found out I was helping you. Apparently they're part of our rival gang."

"Ah," Gil groaned. "Shit."

"_Si."_

I froze, trying to catch my breath even as the voices moved and became softer. They were running away, running somewhere, but my mind was a little caught, unable to jump the bridge that had just been thrown in front of it. Gang. Rival gang. That's what the Spanish guy had said. Since when had Gilbert been involved in gang movements? Since when had the carefree, happy-go-lucky Antonio? Neither one of them seemed like the type. Well, on the surface Gil could pass for it, but I knew too much about him to not have known this.

How could he be hiding this from me? Why didn't he tell me? Is that why he disappeared every night? What the hell was he doing working with a gang?

_Employer. Rival gang. Should I tell Dad? Would that only make things worse? Oh...god..._

I fell to my knees against the wall, put a hand to my mouth when I felt the nausea rise up. The music had stopped. A hand was on my back, rubbing gently. But there was faintness. Faint. Vision going fuzzy. Was it even possible to pass out from shock?

I woke only a few minutes later with Roderich hovering over me, a frown on his face. I was lying down, the costume forgotten on the floor beside me, and the dizziness was the first thing to assault me when I tried to sit up. When I put a hand to my head, Roderich put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. My first reaction was to panic because a guy was forcing me on the floor, then I remembered who was pushing me down and the whole fact that I'd pretty much just passed out for no apparent reason.

"Give it a moment," Roderich said, slow and clear. "If you promise not to get up and run out, I'll see if I can find you a cup of water."

Hand still on my head, I closed my eyes and decided to take steady breathes. Focus on breathing, not too hard, but enough to get the air I needed to calm down. "No, I'll be fine. Just give me a second or two and I'll be fine."

He nodded and pulled back. "As you wish."

I felt him leave but even with my eyes closed I had the sense that he was still hovering and still watching. Probably wondering if he should ask why that happened. I had to think about why it would, too. What kind of weak girl was I to pass out from shock? How honestly lame. As I opened my eyes and recalled the reason, though, I frowned and pulled myself to a sitting position. Gilbert. That was why. Gilbert was in a gang, and there was trouble.

My eyes flew open and up, catching Roderich's worried dark blue. "Gilbert's in trouble."

To my confusion, he only shrugged. "Gilbert is always in trouble."

_Oh, uhm, good point, but -_

I shook my head. "No, I mean serious trouble. With a gang or something. I overheard it by the window when I went to go yell at him for playing flute and then..."

"Eliza," Roderich said, wincing as soon as the nickname left his mouth as if he were worried about insulting me with a nickname; to be honest, I thought the reaction itself was kind of cute even if I didn't particularly care for the name. "Don't do anything rash. There is no need to chase after Gilbert, especially if he is involved in a gang as you say."

Standing up, I sniffed. "You sound like my mother."

He sighed, shook his head, returned to the piano bench. "Do what you want, then, but be careful."

What a stupid thing to say. Motherly indeed. Of course I would be careful. What I couldn't understand was why Roderich wouldn't care enough to follow me after Gilbert. Sure, they were rivals of a sort, if he even knew that much, but they were classmates. Fellow musicians at the very least. Was it respect only from the pampered aristocrat? Or was Gilbert right and Roderich was a wuss?

Whatever. I couldn't let Gil face a fight on his own. He was too damn easy to beat up in the first place. There was no telling what would happen if he had to face a group of gang members. If anything, there were going to be a hell of a lot of questions when we got back to the house tonight.

~!~

It was nearing sunset when I found Gilbert. After having circled school grounds and checking places in the small town – even Francis was clueless when it came to the whereabouts of his two friends – I decided to take my stuff with me and walk home. I would either find Gil on the way or I'd find him at home. What I knew for sure was that he and his friend had disappeared from the area with mutters of gang rivalries, and I couldn't stop the nerves.

Until I found him. Then everything stopped.

I was just making it over the rather large hill on the country road – the one I had contemplated pushing Gilbert down that one awful day. A tree on the side of the road caught my eye, because there were several trees interspersed naturally along this road. While many trees caught attention because of the changing leaves of the season, this one had a distinct white splotch leaning next to it. And upon closer inspection, the white splotch was the stark white hair of a certain albino.

I rushed to the spot immediately, seeing Gil leaning his back against the tree trunk, his eyes closed. There was red all around him, covering his shirt, torn fabrics mixing with blood and dirt. His face was scratched and bleeding, but it wasn't the worst. His breathing was a little off, and when I approached his eyes flew open, his injured body tensing up.

"Who?" Red eyes blinked, narrowed, then relaxed. "Lizzy."

"Yeah," I muttered back, kneeling beside him in the grass – forget the possible stains on my dress, this was serious. "It's me."

He shifted his legs, winced, and then grumbled something to himself. "Well that's not embarrassing or anything."

Noticing that his hand was pressed to his side, I reached over to pull his hand back. Or attempt to. He was putting up some serious resistance. "What happened?"

His eyes looked to me, following every movement carefully, like he was debating something in his mind. "Doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Gil..."

His mouth twitched up into a smirk at the nickname and I flushed a little at the realization that I had given in to an unspoken bet. "Careful, Lizzy. Your concern is showing."

"Of course it is!" I shouted, forcing his hand back thanks to the timely shock of my raised voice. "You're hurt."

With a groan, he tried to cover up the wound again, but I grabbed his wrist with one of my hands and held on tightly. I even dug my fingernails into his skin to make a point. He hissed but otherwise stopped resisting me. So I finally got a chance to look at what he was trying to hide, seeing the welt in his side, like he had been sliced up by a knife slashing motion. Which was odd. Who fought with a knife and didn't stab? Ugh, I hadn't watched enough CSI or ER to know what I was looking at or even what to do in this kind of situation. Beyond "don't panic." I could handle doing that much. I wasn't panicking. Not yet at least.

"I'm fine," he mumbled again, as if in some kind of denial over his own injuries. "I'll be fine if you just give me a second to catch my breath."

Lifting my eyes, I raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious? Gilbert, you're bleeding pretty badly. How long has this been going on? How long have you been sitting here like this?"

He shrugged, and I noticed how his eyes drooped. "Dunno. But I'll be fine."

After a moment to let his reactions process as something worse than what I had originally thought, I chewed my bottom lip and came to a conclusion. I put his arm around my shoulder and started to get to my feet, attempting to drag him up with me. "Yes, you will, but we have to get you to a hospital."

His reaction was sudden and instant. "No!"

And at his quick pull back, we both fell. Thanks to his failing to realize we were already halfway to our feet. At least I didn't face plant on the ground. He did though, groaning as I worked to pull him back up.

"You freaking idiot," I growled. "You're in terrible shape. You can't handle this yourself."

"But I have you now," he mumbled, his eyes lazily turning to meet mine even as his feet finally worked to stand up like I wanted. "Right?"

Although my face flushed at the comment, I had to hold back another burst of frustration. He had such terrible timing. Who on earth would flirt with someone while they were busy trying to stay conscious and dealing with a case of blood loss? Honestly, who?

"Gilbert," I hissed behind my teeth, trying to move, annoyed that he wouldn't step forward, annoyed that he was leaning backwards, hitting the tree, trying to slip down the trunk again. "I can't handle this on my own."

His eyebrows twitched. "But you're not alone, either. I'm here."

I huffed. Sweet and touching as it was, this was certainly not the time. God, he really didn't have an inkling sense of timing when it came to things kinds of things. Or something else was off, but since Gilbert had always been the rowdy troublemaker who didn't make any sense, I wasn't really too surprised. The slur in his words and lethargic movements meant his blood loss could grow to be a problem if we didn't do something about it now. On the inside, I screamed and cried and ranted about how clueless I was in this kind of situation. Honestly, I hadn't encountered anything like this before; I didn't know what to do; I couldn't handle it, and no matter what Gil said, he wasn't really being much help.

His head lolled to the side; I could smell the shampoo and sweat and blood when he moved closer like that, too. And then he giggled. "Walking is bad right now, mmkay?"

My feet stopped trying to move and I worked hard to hold back the frustrated tears. "What am I supposed to do then? You're not being any help here, Gil."

He giggled again. "You called me Gil again. Like it when you do that."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, seriously, you need to go to a hospital."

"No!" His head snapped up, his red eyes searching around until they locked onto my green gaze. Red eyes made even creepier because they were bloodshot. "Can't do the hospital."

I groaned. We weren't getting anywhere with this. There had to be some way to convince him to at least go somewhere. "Then how about my house?"  
>He shook his head instantly again. "Nope. Not there either. No adults. Adults bad right now."<p>

What the hell? I felt my eye twitch, and because he was so damn heavy I decided to give in and let him lean against the tree again. He sighed almost in contentment when he was back on the ground, leaning against something. His hand went to his side again, pressing down. Pressing down to staunch the blood flow maybe? Was he bleeding anywhere else? If he refused to seek help from an adult, then I'd need to do something quick now. Besides, who was I kidding? The walk home was going to be hell if he had to lean against me the whole time.

In the back of my mind, I started to consider options and ideas that I could do right now to help Gilbert. Out loud, I questioned his strangely insistent decision. "Why not, though? What are you afraid of?"

"Because," he said, then he giggled again and whispered in a sing-song voice. "I got the drugs inside me."

"You what?"

This time I focused in on what he had to say. I had to have been hearing things, right? Or was it true? Drugs were usually associated with gangs anyway. If he was telling the truth, then it would make sense for him not to go to the hospital for help. They'd probably start asking all kinds of questions. And my parents wouldn't appreciate it if they somehow could figure it out by the way he was acting. I just thought it was because of his injuries, but maybe it _was_ the drugs making him act weird and...

Well like he was high on something.

"The drugs," Gil whispered again, grinning at me like a fool, which wasn't too different from normal but there was a slight tug on my heart when he did it now. "That's what they do to catch you, you know. Get you addicted. Hah! I won't be addicted to this shit! Even if it feels awesome. Force me to sell the stuff, then beat me up when I ask for help and give me drugs to make the pain go away. Perfect business. Too bad I'm too awesome to get addicted to shit like this. I'm not gonna break that easily."

My breath refused to fill up normally. I felt the urge to hiccup. Felt the tears welling up in my own eyes. No wonder his attitude was all kinds of wrong. He had to deal with this in the background and didn't even tell anyone. Why was he involved in something like this? Why was he trying to deal with it on his own? I was thankful to hear even in his drugged state of mind that he refused to bow to it, but what would that mean for his future? How deep did this go?

And here I thought small towns didn't have to deal with this kind of saddening crime. "Gil..."

His drooping eyes turned to me, then he frowned. "Hey, hey, don't look at me like that. No pity. You wanna help? Fine, but no pity, all right?"

I nodded, fanning my face to hold the tears back, swallowing the sadness to tackle it later. "All right, but that means you're coming home with me."

His mouth opened to protest, but I put a hand over it this time. It was an intimate touch. I didn't realize it until after I moved, but covering his mouth with my hand was a bit much, feeling his breath on my skin like that. My face heated. His cheeks went a little pink, an obvious color change for an albino. And then he licked my hand, and I kept it there just out of stubbornness and a refusal to squeak and pull back like some kind of little girl.

"Gil," I scowled, getting his red eyes to stare back at me, dancing in the slowly dimming sunlight. "My parents went out for the night. They won't be back until way late. We can fix you up without having to worry about them, and maybe Ludwig will help, too."

Only when his tongue stopped licking my palm did I pull my hand back. His lips pressed together, like he was thinking, and then he smiled. "Okay. It's not that bad, you know. It's just...the drugs making it seem bad because I'm loopy as all hell."

"I hope so," I muttered, then frowned at a sudden random thought. "What happened to your flute?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed, then turned to the side and started to well up with tears of all things. "I don't want to talk about it."

I frowned. Musical instruments were precious things to musicians, but I still hadn't expected to see Gilbert tear up over one. "Gil, what-?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" He snapped, but his eyes glanced to the other side and my gaze followed to see what I had originally assumed to be a snapped stick on the ground next to him. I gasped when I saw it for what it was – the remnants of Gilbert's wooden flute. "I guess I won't be able to beat Roderich at the talent show and impress you after all."

I blinked, tilted my head to the side. "Impress me?"

His face flushed almost as red as his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and skipped right on past the subject. "Anyway, we were going home, right?"  
>"Right," I said, letting him get away with the avoidance but still pondering on the strange statement as I helped him to his feet.<p>

Why would Gilbert work so hard just to impress me? Was he actually serious about asking me out? Even with all his sexual innuendos and inappropriate jokes, he still wanted to impress me with music because, why? Because he'd seen me throw attention to Roderich? Was it jealousy for attention or...something else?

One thing was for certain, Gilbert Beilschmidt was sure a lot more mysterious than I originally assumed.

~!~

_A/N: Finally the PruHun scene I wanted to write this whole time. Well, no, not this whole time, but a major scene that hit my mind a few nights ago and I finally got to write it out and yay. Now on to Gilbert. My stomach keeps doing flips. I am having way too much fun with this._

_~Reda_


	11. Chapter 11: Gilbert

**Author Notes: **So this is going to be a little weird, since Gil is kind of drugged up. Fair enough warning? I sure hope so. I'm also going to try to fit in what happened into Gil's thoughts. Shouldn't be too difficult, but because of his current condition things may get confusing. Also, fair warning, I've never taken a drug so this is like wading into water I've never touched before. I haven't really observed someone except for customers coming in to order food while they're high. Which is hilarious and annoying at the same time. Anywho.

~!~

Incomplete

~!~

Chapter 11: Gilbert

Having Lizzy find me was probably the luckiest break of my life. My employer turned out to be a part of the Chinese gang and a direct rival with Toni's Spanish gang. Hah. Lucky me, right? Of course, Antonio was still my friend but his help for me could only go so far when his "brothers" were watching. Blood was thicker than water, after all. Family over friends. Too bad I didn't really get the chance to understand that family bond, except for with my own brother and even that was strenuous at best sometimes.

Sure, our silly small town wasn't the center point of gang activities. Most things happened on the outskirts or deep inside New York City, which was a few hours away, but the influence reached out this far and that was all that mattered. We were like the last major point before stuff could really go down in the city. This was why I never visited New York. Not that I would try to convince you not to visit. Every major city had its bad places, but it wasn't like the entire city was full of them. No, it was just that once you were trapped in the gang circle anywhere you went with their influence was kind of a death sentence waiting to happen.

Or at least the focal point for an even greater mess. Sorry, Toni, didn't mean to fuck things up for you. It's not my fault my dad was so involved with the Chinese gang. Why the hell was he involved with them anyway? Opium? Did he get addicted? Just a seller, then, not a real member. Like me, hah! And here they were trying to get me all addicted so I'd work for them easy enough, too. Toni had saved my ass from a worse situation, but he could only help so far. Not that I was expecting much. I would like more, but...I didn't expect it.

Anyway, focusing was pretty hard with this stuff inside me, and I needed to focus because Lizzy was here. Lizzy. I smiled at the thought, seeing her green eyes twitch. She huffed and said something that I didn't catch, mumbling beneath her breath no doubt about my lower intelligence, since she seemed to do that all the time. I loved teasing her, riling her up, seeing her active. Heck, I even liked seeing how strong she could be when she was seriously pissed about something. She would make one hell of an activist, well, once she learned a better way to debate, but she sure would be fun on a march or in the midst of a riot or...

I shook my head. Damn it all. Focus. _Focus_, _Gil. _

Taking a breath to try to calm down, not like it did anything, I started to mumble something back at her. I think I was giving instructions for how to handle the knife wound on my side, but she just looked at me like I was an idiot so I was pretty sure nothing intelligent was making it out of my mouth right now. A glance to the side, a reminder of my broken flute, and I felt my chest constrict and my eyes water. Damn it all...

_Focus!_

"So, Lizzy," I managed to say clearly, getting her to stop whatever she was doing or thinking and look up at me. "You gonna help me walk home or not?"

"Right," I heard her say. "But first I think we should take care of this bleeding."

"Ah, it's fine," I mumbled, waving my arm in the air, and then giggling it because I was pretty sure I could feel the air. "Just gotta keep a little pressure on it."

With a smile, I watched her frown. She wasn't going to take me seriously. Hell, I don't think I would take my self seriously at this point. Giggling like a fool. Feeling air. Yeah, I was pretty gone. Damn drug had a great feeling, though. I was injured and probably in danger of blood loss but I didn't feel anything – well, not much when I didn't move – and I didn't care either. I was so fucking relaxed it was like I was dreaming or something.

Yeah. Totally had to be dreaming. No other reason for Lizzy to find me and worry about me so much. Don't get me wrong. I hated pity, but a part of me did like the idea of having a girl fret over me. I could take care of myself just fine, but having her here was...even more relaxing than the drug itself.

"Right," I heard her again. "Then I guess there's no helping it."

"Hm?" I hummed, trying to frown when her hands left my skin. I really liked having her touch me and I didn't want that little warmth to go away. "No helping what?"

She sighed and shook her head, the brown strands of hair shaking against her shoulders, circling around her back as she leaned over. I could almost not see her face anymore because of all the hair framing it, but the pose itself seemed to be one of serious concentration. So I hummed as I watched her, my brain imagining something a little unsavory as I was left to just stare at the girl of my dreams.

Hah. What? God, the drug was effecting my thoughts too. Insane shit.

The sound of ripping fabric made me actually frown. What was she doing? She wasn't tearing up her dress, was she? Why would she do that? I mean, I guess I could see the point if we were out in the middle of nowhere and she didn't have a bandage or anything to wrap around my wound, but girls liked their dresses. Why would she go and rip hers up just for me? It didn't make sense.

Except when she shifted positions and held up the plaid fabric I knew that was exactly what she had done.

"Lizzy," I protested, reaching out to grab her hand and completely missing the mark much to my chagrin. "You shouldn't have done that."

Her eyebrows raised as she quite easily pushed my hands away this time, pulling my shirt up enough to reveal the wound, even if it was sort of visible through the cut made with the knife anyway. "I do what I want, Gil."

Warmth tickled my chest again at the nickname and I fought the urge to giggle. Okay, so I giggled again like a silly junior high girl, but I honestly did try to fight it. "But, Lizzy, you didn't have to."

She didn't say anything back at first. Maybe she was focused on wrapping the dress fabric around my side. Around and around and around it went, and my eyes eventually fell to her shorter dress, licking my lips at the amount of leg she was showing. So much skin. So much I couldn't touch. Even without the drug, I think I would have been torn at seeing her dress length now; she would definitely not be allowed to wear it at school anymore, that was for sure.

"You idiot," she mumbled, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. "I told you I do what I want."

"But-"

I didn't get a chance to voice anymore of a complaint. Completely coming out of left field, her hands moved upwards, gripped my shirt collar, and I prepared for a smack to the face or something since that's what usually followed such actions. My eyes closed, wincing back at the supposed slap to the face, but something else happened instead. Warm lips touched my own, and the grip on my shirt collar pulled me in closer. I didn't know how to react. Not at all. All I could do was sit there and wonder where it came from, what was happening, believing I definitely had to be dreaming now.

Then she pulled back and huffed at me. "Don't get any weird ideas now. That was just to help you focus so we can get home easier."

I cleared my throat as she got to her feet, put my arm around her shoulders, and then helped me to my feet so we could start walking again. "Ah, okay. Focus. Right."

Because getting your first kiss from the girl of your dreams was totally a great way to focus your thoughts. Yep. No problem here at all.

~!~

We made it back to the house eventually. Slow walk for sure. The sun went down on our way, but we kept pressing forward. All the time Lizzy kept up a mantra, a rhythm and numbering system that would have made the marching band members cry. But it was enough to keep me going and enough to get us to our destination without any falls or failures along the way.

Of course once we got home, there was the whole deal with Ludwig. My little brother freaked out like he should have, like Lizzy should have honestly, and Lizzy had to calm him down while I tried not to giggle. Which meant I was giggling like a madman while Lizzy was both yelling at me to shut up and trying to speak sweetly to Ludwig at the same time, which only made me giggle more to be honest.

Once my little brother was able to help, he did a marvelous job. Not as amazing as Lizzy, but yeah I was pretty glad to have him for a brother then. Ludwig raced to get the first aid kit while Lizzy led me to the couch. I guess we would worry about the blood stains later. Hah. Explaining to her parents was still going to happen. Except, maybe not, because Lizzy was thinking of everything apparently, even while I was stumbling around like a fucking idiot. She grabbed a few towels to place on the couch to keep the blood from touching the nice leather, and I once again just had to sit back and marvel at her thought process and how she was still willing to help keep this a secret. Missing towels was a lot easier to explain than a blood stained expensive leather couch, after all.

After getting me settled on the couch, Lizzy had me remove my shirt so she could clean the wound. I laughed because by this point cleaning was almost pointless, but I let her have her way. For one, she was going to do it whether I fought her or not, and for another, it wasn't going to hurt anything. A nice way to show off my super pale albino skin, though, something I was a little uncomfortable with since I'd been bullied for it when younger. But, heh, I had learned not to care too much, and she didn't seem to care beyond her task of cleaning the dirt and dried blood anyway.

She didn't ask any questions. She didn't pester me about the gangs or the drugs or why I got into this mess. She just did what she could to take care of me, and for that I was grateful. After the one comment about feeling sorry for me, I had been sure she'd want information and start bugging me for the reasonings. But she didn't. And when I told her not to show me pity, she did that too.

Was this the same Lizzy who had beaten me up the first week of school for daring to go along with the rumors? The same one who had shared detention with me and thrown me from my bike multiple times on the way to and from school? Yes, it was. The same girl who had caught me in a personal moment and stopped me without saying a word. The same girl who took whatever issues I had and refused to bring them up unless I did it myself.

The same girl who kissed me.

I licked my lips at the memory, wishing I could feel another kiss. One just wasn't enough, and it seemed more like a tease than anything serious. I wanted more, though, and even my drug-addled mind could agree on that much. As I watched Lizzy work hard to take care of me, I decided then and there that I had to stop fucking around with her. I wanted her. I wanted her away from Roderich, away from the wuss of a rich kid. Heh. Maybe it _was_ the drugs thinking for me. Who was I kidding? Why would she want me? Why would she want someone stuck in the midst of a gang war? Why would I want to even bring her into that?

My life was a mess, broken and ruined just like the flute her dad had made for me. I couldn't ask Lizzy to be my girlfriend until I could promise to protect her...and there was no telling when or if that would ever happen.

~!~

It wasn't until the next night, the one before the talent show, that I realized how deep I was. And I wasn't talking about the drug dealing gang fighting problem, either.

Sitting outside Antonio's shack of a house – a place where he lived with his older brother and younger sister – I smoked on a cigarette and chatted with the best friend who had abandoned me. Lizzy would have probably been mad to know I smoked, but it went with the image and attitude and was a little hard to deny. Not to mention, it was a good excuse to use when drug dealers came calling. You know, 'no thanks, man, I'm already regretting the cigarette decision; not gonna add another one to it.'

Granted, I had an itch for more opium anyway, but that was because my employer and his men had to beat the shit out of me and then force the drug on me. Yeah, I'd rather not talk too much on it, but the itch to have more was still there, especially because of the pain still present in my side. When you have the option of taking something for pain resisting starts to become a serious problem. I was hanging on, though. I was holding on with everything I had, and smoking a cigarette with a friend in hopes that it would help calm a part of the itch. At least that part was working fine.

"_Mi amigo," _Antonio muttered beside me, leaning against the wall looking a little out of touch with reality, but that was Toni almost all the time. "My city contact sold some more for you, but tensions are high now."

There was accusation in his voice. Accusation. Like it was my fault he was having a tough time with his gang. I guess, from his point of view, it was my fault. His decision to help me sell the stash by using his contacts had led to a greater mess than either of us could have foreseen. Of course, from Toni's view, I should have been able to figure out who my employer was before accepting the deal. Toni had been dealing with this for a long time and still couldn't accept my story as the full truth or my best effort.

"I honestly didn't know, Toni," I said, blowing smoke into the night air. "What would you have done if I'd known, though? If I had been able to tell you who it was, what would you have changed?"

Antonio shrugged. "Not much. I would have known to proceed with more caution, but I still would have helped, _amigo_."

"Then stop bitching at me for it every five minutes."

Toni sighed. He wasn't quite as happy as I remembered. Then again, if you managed to catch either of my friends alone in their house facing their own problems neither one were very happy. Except for Francis. His happy wasn't really faked, even if he dreamed of better things. Francis at least had a mother. I had a dumb ass for a father, and Toni...well Toni didn't have either. We had grown up fending for ourselves, and we both kept the gang problems and drug issues – and the problems with my dad for the most part – a secret from Francis. So much for the trio. If he ever found out, he'd probably murder us both for being terrible friends.

Oh well. I was as good as dead anyway. It didn't matter much to me how it happened now.

"_Lo siento, amigo,_" Toni went on in that Spanish language of his; I could understand most of what he said nowadays, but that was probably only because I was busy working with him and his gang members now. "_Pero..._I don't think we can sell it all by Christmas."

"Yeah," I grumbled, flicking the cigarette butt into the rocks out front. "You said that the first time."

Antonio's normally bright green eyes appeared sad as he frowned, another pose I wasn't used to seeing from him. "It is so much, _amigo._"

With a grunt, I stood up and stretched, wincing slightly at the pull to my knife wound. "Yeah. At this point, I think it's a setup to trap me indefinitely."

"Probably," Toni murmured. "Such is life."

In the chill air, those words made me shiver more than the incoming breeze. Leaves rustled in the trees, some of them falling at the wind. The earth was going to begin its cycle of death soon. Death and rebirth repeated constantly. Being a tree probably sucked, but at this point I wanted to be anyone else, anything else, anywhere else.

"Hey," I said after the wind died down, holding my hands in my autumn jacket pockets. "That line belongs to Francis."

Antonio laughed, the typical brightness returning to his demeanor. I loved being able to make people laugh, and Toni loved to find things to laugh at. No wonder we made such good friends. "I am sure Francis would not mind if I translated his favorite saying when stealing it."

I rolled my eyes. Francis did like to spout out fake French or anything French sounding he could pick up. Whereas Antonio was legitimately Spanish, having immigrated from Spain with his family at a very young age, Francis had only discovered the French in his family line and declared then and there that he was French enough to speak however he pleased. Even if the rest of us knew he sounded fake, something I had laughed with Lizzy about early on when she got to meet the three of us under better circumstances.

"Whatever," I mumbled, kicking at a red leaf, watching it swirl around the air before settling down a few feet from where I kicked it. If that didn't show how much control I had of my life, nothing would. "I'm gonna head home. See ya at school tomorrow."

"Your home?" Toni's voice echoed, a clear peppy laugh imbued in the words. "Or Lizzy's?"

Despite myself, I turned and took the bait, my face heating. "Hey shut up. It's not my fault her parents took us in when my dad was arrested."

Antonio shifted his position, still smiling like a loon. "She took care of you, huh?"

And if _that_ didn't make my face flush, nothing else would. "Uhm. Yeah."

A quiet moment drifted between the two of us, sliding in and out and taking all the sounds of the world with it. My thoughts returned to the moment of Lizzy finding me at the tree, worrying, fretting, helping, _kissing_. Even with the drug out of my system, I couldn't get the image, the feel, or the taste out of my mind. My tongue longed to touch hers, instead of the simply kiddie lip lock of the kiss that shouldn't have meant as much as it did.

Spanish words broke me from the longing daydream. "_Lo siento, amigo."_

When that was all he said, I raised an eyebrow, noting the puff of breath I could see in the air. "Huh?"

"Sorry," he repeated in English this time. "About your flute."

Immediately, my chest tightened. My stomach dropped. The tears threatened. If you didn't own an instrument you wouldn't understand. Once something precious was taken from you at an early age, and then a second chance presented itself into your hands only to be ruined worse than the first time... It was like trying something difficult and failing harder the second time, even if both times had not been your fault. Well, not directly your fault.

"Oh," I managed. "Right."

"I'm sure you can find another way to impress her, _amigo_."

I didn't look up at him. I didn't have to. All I had to do was turn around, shrug, and start my walk back to the house, reminded once more of the love I craved and the little chance I had of ever seeing that craving being satisfied. "I doubt that."

~!~

_A/N: A little more emo than I would prefer to see from Gil, but everyone goes through these kinds of stages. Again, I think he has reason, and his outward show is much more tough-guy I-don't-care so at least it's the inward personal problem I understand it to be and not some show of being needy. At least I hope the emo doesn't come out too strong. I'm usually so good with Gil's personality but for some reason I threw too much on his plate this time and he's stumbling along trying to deal with it all. I guess._

_~Reda_


End file.
